Wraiths of the Past
by BOL
Summary: Long after Galbatorix's fall, Eragon has built a paradise on a remote island and a new order of Riders. This is the journey of a girl and her dragon from this island, how they will learn of a time before and struggle to save the time to come from a terror, one older than the dragons and much more powerful.
1. An Afternoon with Ebrithil

_We've a danger before us._

A girl kneeled on a little niche in the forest, like an alcove formed of branches shielding their child. Light filtered through the branches weakly and fell upon the child bowed over as if in prayer upon a bed of dry leaves. A green creature lay wrapped around its ward, a curved tail and long body standing out in sharp contrast to the brown and maroon layer beneath it surroundings.

_We've no right to do this, the risks-_

"Oh _do_ shut up about your risks Kalla. I know my limits." _I think_ the girl thought to herself with less certainty. But she would never betray her fear and anxiety to the creature. The subject of this fear was a small pile of leaves, freshly plucked. It was barely half a metre wide and only ten centimetres at its highest.

She exhaled, calming herself, and drew on her magic. To her it was like a kite tethered to the earth far below, and which she watched from the heavens. She only had to grasp the kite, and it would conduct power to her.

The girl furrowed her brow in concentration, ignoring the displeasure radiating from the creature. She saw the kite, and grabbed for it, and again, and again! There! She imagined the fabric rustling beneath her palms and its cord forming a conduit of power. All fatigue from sitting in that position for the time she had been there faded, replaced with renewed zeal.

The creature by her side seemed to want to intervene, to nip this incident in the bud, but the excitement was overflowing from the girl and into the lizard like creature, pervading the being's normally sensible mind.

"Reisa du laufsblädar lífblödh!"

A throbbing materialised in her head, akin to a headache. She stretched out her palms to just above the pile and concentrated harder, imagining power arcing back and forth across the kite's cord. The throbbing grew louder and she was aware of the creature next to her swaying in time with it.

But it grew louder still, and louder, and louder till it swallowed her world. There was no more trees, no more creature, and no more light. Just her, and the leaves. She saw the water in them being drawn out, seeping through tiny holes in the leaves' skin and coalescing into a visible whole. But it wasn't enough, more water was drawn out, forming tiny sphere's floating above the pile, sometimes joining to form larger ones. And still the throbbing continued.

The girl became aware of a tinny voice in a dark corner of her mind. More water came out. The throbbing continued.

_Frelsa…_

The edges of her consciousness dulled and her view of the world darkened. How was she seeing this? Weren't her eyes closed?

_Frelsa…_

She was dimly aware of a need to stop, but it seemed like a storm had materialised in her mind, whipping her kite back and forth. She was afraid to let go, lest the wind spirit her away.

_FRELSA, IF YOU DIE ON ME I WILL FIND YOUR SOUL IN THE AFTERLIFE AND SHOW YOU A DRAGON'S RAGE!_

The mental roaring brought her consciousness back to reality. Frelsa's immediately severed the flow of magic and felt what seemed like little raindrops falling upon her open palms. She cracked open one eyelid and saw that her hands were wet with the water she had drawn from the leaves, which now lay in one shrivelled, blackened pile of ash before her.

"Well that's something ain't it?" Frelsa exclaimed as she examined the pile of dry ash, turning to her companion.

_Yes, interesting. And nearly killed yourself at it didn't you? "I know my limits"?_ The dragon recited in annoyance.

"Of course I do, why do you think I managed to stem the magic flow?" She asked in mock arrogance.

The dragon heaved a mental sigh. She felt a hundred years older when she tried arguing with her Rider, and at this rate that number would probably ratchet up to a thousand.

"Hah, c'mon Kalla. Let's go tell Ebrithil."

_Seriously? Just like that? You nearly died back there!_

"Ah, but I didn't, did I?"

_Argh! You know, someday I'll…just go._

Frelsa got up and pushed aside a bunch of loose bushels of leaves, making space for her dragon to crawl through.

_You know, not to say I told you so, but…_

"I am a talented spell caster? I knew you believed in me."

They walked through the bright lit pathways of the island. Frelsa's little hideout was on the edge of the forest and opened up next to a dusty path that led straight to the main area of her adopted home.

Rounding a corner, she entered the main area, Festa eom Líf. Literally 'Learn to Live.'

A huge volcano dominated her view, rising thousands of metres into the air. Two long stone arms stretched down its sides and these tall arms formed the walls that defined Festa eom Líf. Against the left side, closet to Frelsa and Kalla, was the area frequented by dwarves and their dragons. A collection of low, stone houses and huts, a huge assembly of furnaces, forges and smelters. Dwarven riders stooped over anvils, hammering metals into strong weapons and fantastical ornaments, dragons by their side heating the metals to putty and moulding them with ease. Here metal was forged and smithed and hammered to great shapes and devices. The name for this place in common tongue was the Dwarf Corner, but their name for it was Knarnbzark. No one knew what this meant, save the dwarves. And their lips were sealed on the subject.

Next was the Men's Corner. The Dwarf corner was huge but only occupied half of the gargantuan left arm, the other half was the corner of men. Here the buildings varied greatly in architecture, some featuring the exquisite flowing beauty of the elves, other bore the sharp, acute angles of dwarves, but the majority bore the familiar shape of regular abodes of men. Most of the buildings here were two stories tall at least, the highest, the observatory, at seven. Humans and dragons there alike learned from masters of the same race. It shouldn't matter but young riders were more eager to learn from teachers of their own race.

On the right arm was the Elf Corner and Urgal Corner, both mysteries to the pair. The Urgal Corner was the largest, due to the right arm being greater in size to the left. It was composed of mud huts atop sandy ground, arranged in a circle radiating out from a central bonfire. Other races were welcome in any Corner, but… less welcome, in the Urgal Corner. At one point the Urgals wanted to make it a whole clan, there was more than enough space anyway, but the decision was declined due to political difficulties it would cause with the other races. But there was a clan of sorts, just less organised, one which Frelsa knew little of.

The Elf corner was the real anomaly. Unlike the other corners, it was a forest like the one that surrounded the rest of the volcano. Completely devoid of visible buildings, it appeared as nothing but a gathering of giant trees with indistinct shapes weaving in and out of them. No one wanted to encroach on the elves' territory, and they liked it that way.

In all the Corners the populace was made of not only dragons and their Riders, they were also filled scholars or resident tutors that volunteered to teach their craft to young Riders or the occasional eccentric trader selling goods for favours.

Frelsa and Kalla made their way to their goal, a small area between the Men's and Elf Corners. They cut through the huge sparring field on their way there.

She skirted a rowdy group of three Urgals and their snarling dragons, the lead Urgal, a young buck with a pair of horns that already curled once around, seemed to be challenging a dwarf to a head butting match. Further down the field two dragons wrestled with each other while a crowd had gathered around them cheering, the huge beasts carving deep furrows in the dirt and gouging scars in the grass that as a result of strange enchantments, immediately began to repair themselves. Even further away, two elves sparred with long, curved blades, drawing attention from all around them with their skill and speed.

_Amazing isn't it?_

"What? The elves?"

_No, this! Them, all of this. The largest gathering of our dragons and Riders since the glory days. And even then they didn't have these many races in their fold!_

"Yes, it is quite amazing. I can't believe Ebrithil founded this!"

_Yes. The largest gathering of different raced two-legs without you tearing each other apart._

The Urgal gang leader was now at blows with the dwarf, both rolling in the dirt and raining punches and kicks and other assorted attacks on each other.

_Well, mostly._

Kalla was not a large dragon, being only a few months old. She was almost the size of an average sized horse but tiny compared to some of the old hands. Their dragons were huge, towering above many of the buildings there. Then there were the wild ones, they rarely, if ever, came into Festa eom Líf. The island was divided in two, Festa eom Líf and a portion of the forest on the South side, and the North belonged to the wild ones. A huge, unbroken forest. The trees there were so huge that even the biggest dragon could remain hidden there. In fact Frelsa realised she had only seen one in her whole stay on the island, a brilliant yellow wyrm soaring far overhead. It was an unspoken rule never to encroach on their territory.

Kalla wanted to visit one of the Dwarf smiths, Hothgeir, a friendly dwarf who was the one who now forged the rider's weapons, but Frelsa was determined to report to Ebrithil her success.

They came to the spot between the Men's and Elf Corner, a clearing devoid of any buildings. Here the mountain met ground, and Ebrithil's wisdom met his student's ignorance.

_There he is! _Frelsa thought. She could feel Kalla rolling her eyes, kind of hard to miss him and his huge blue dragon.

The man wore a simple silk robe of some sort, probably elfin, and lay against his dragon's belly with one hand on the sheathed blue sword across his lap. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, head angled upwards and serenely smiling at the sky. His dragon's side rose and fell as she took in gargantuan breaths. There was nothing further beyond but the side of the mountain, dotted with sparse vegetation and young trees upon the steep mountain side.

Frelsa grew timid as she drew near, her mind brushing against the powerful consciousness of the pair.

_Greetings Ebrithil._

He didn't even open his eyes and said, "No need for formalities here, only when I'm teaching. You can use my name."

"Of course, E-Eragon."

* * *

Saphira stirred, her large head rising off the ground and she stared straight at Frelsa and Kalla.

_Greetings, little ones._

Kalla backpedalled furiously as the head came close. The blue dragon was so big that the green one was barely larger than Saphira's head. The giant creature made a strange noise, as if it was laughing.

"So, have you done as I asked?"

"Y-Yes, Ebrithil. I drew the lifeblood from leaves, a leaf, I mean. It would have been easier if you'd just told me how to say 'water' in the Ancient Language."

_And nearly killed yourself at it, _Kalla reminded her Rider._ It may not be wise to tell him the whole truth._

She disregarded the green dragon. "I did as you said, but uh… I…" She would never reveal it but she feared that Kalla may be right.

_Speak your mind, Frelsa,_ Saphira _said._

Kalla shook her head disapprovingly. "I found a single leaf too easy, little a challenge I mean. I decided to use the same spell on several leaves at once."

"Well done, I assume you took precautions? You didn't risk overexerting yourself?"

"Um…"

Eragon finally opened his eyes and his normally calm features distorted in alarm. "What happened?"

"I _did_ take quite a few leaves…"

"How many?" When an answer was not forthcoming Eragon turned to Frelsa's dragon. "Speak, Kalla."

_Not many, she only took-_

"Thorta du ilumëo!"

Kalla stiffened. _82 leaves in total._

Her green body loosened up and relaxed.

The tall Rider stared at Frelsa accusingly. "You knew the risks associated?"

She nodded.

"And you did not stop her?" He looked at Kalla now.

The green dragon shook her head. _I tried but-_

Eragon silenced her with one raised hand. He let his head fall back against Saphira's armoured side. The sounds emanating from the sparring field seemed to dull to silence. Frelsa realised how interesting her shoes were.

_You knew how dangerous it was, yet still did so? Why? _Saphira asked, her huge blue eyes twinkling in the noon day sunlight.

"I guess… I got frustrated?"

_Why?_

Frelsa heaved a sigh of relief. This was the exact conversation she had played out in her mind countless times in her impatience during lessons.

"I mean no disrespect, but the tasks you give Kalla and I are no challenge. Raise a stone, draw water from a leaf. You know I can do it! But you still give them to me. I just… needed to show you I can do more."

To her amazement, Eragon's frown slowly dissipated and the tips of his mouth lifted in a smile. She heard him murmur to himself, "History repeats itself…" Even the disappointment emanating from Saphira lifted slightly, replaced by amusement as she turned to Eragon and had a silent conversation with him.

After a while, he opened his eyes again and seemed surprised that Frelsa and Kalla still stood there. She squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of a verbal lashing. Instead, she heard the Rider say reassuringly, "Relax, Frelsa. You too Kalla. Lay down and appreciate the day."

She looked up timidly, and glanced at her dragon, and asked, _Did that just happen?_

_Yup._

_So do you think we should…?_

_Yup again._

The dragon nuzzled the small of her Rider's back, urging her forward.

_Oh, let me go first huh?_

But after an eternity under the watchful eye of the blue behemoth they curled up next to each other on the right of Eragon and close to Saphira's head. They were apprehensive to get so close to the intimidating dragon.

Frelsa glanced at Eragon and tried to adopt his posture, arms crossed, legs straight, head angled straight up into the sky. She leaned against Kalla and tried to relax. Breathe deep, clear your mind and all that philosophical drivel that elf, Khaline, had forced onto her. But she kept twitching, shifting. Cheering soon reached her ears, the boisterous calls of Dwarves and the hoarse roars of Urgals. Was the gang leader still wrestling with the Dwarf? A dragon roared somewhere in the distance. A bird screeched. Metal clanged on metal. Another roar. She was about to speak out when Eragon's voice reached her ears.

"What interests you, Frelsa?"

This question took her aback. She had expected to be the one asking. "Uh, magic."

"Evidently."

"Kalla, music…"

_Dying?_ Kalla suggested with mock innocence.

"… and art."

Eragon seemed to ponder this for a moment, then his eyes opened and he spoke again, "Art hmmm? Then we've a subject of interest to learn. Tell me, do you know what a fairth is?"

"No, but may I ask what is the point of this?"

"Many find it easier to learn and actually _follow_ rules pertaining to a subject of interest to them, so answer me, do you know what a fairth is?"

"I don't think so, but it does sound familiar."

"Perhaps you've seen the slate tablets all over the island? Much like painted tablets, in houses and buildings?"

"Yes, Ebrithil." She'd always wondered why they did not just use an easier medium to paint on.

"Not Ebrithil, just Eragon. Those slate tablets are fairths. They are made with magic, capturing the likeness of an image on a slate tablet. Here, I shall show you."

Eragon reached into his silk robe and produced three tablets. As he did so, Kalla complained, _Art? The things humans learn. Wake me when this is over._

_Who knows? You might gain an eye for it someday,_ Frelsa replied, in good spirits now that a lashing had been averted.

Eragon put two of the tablets on the grass besides him and lay the last across his sheathed sword on his lap. He stretched one hand over the tablet and in seconds colour began to appear on the surface. Pigments appeared and swirled in an indistinct maelstrom of colour for a split second before arranging themselves in a perfect depiction of the scene before them. He looked over it once and held it up for Saphira to see, who rumbled in response. Eragon passed the tablet to Frelsa.

The first thought she had, _Gods above, I'm having a one on one class with the Shadeslayer? How am I not freaking out? _The next was, _Wow. _The fairth captured Festa eom Líf better than any artist could hope to. Tiny figures were captured as they scrambled around buildings tall and short, in perfect detail down to the last buckle and strap. The Sun was in the same position in the fairth as it was before her, and even the colour on the tablet was so brilliant and bright that she feared if she focused too much on it she would be blinded. And beyond Festa eom Líf the sea stretched out to the horizon, light reflecting off each wave.

Frelsa sat there for what must have been a good five minutes, completely engrossed in the fairth. Hothgeir had once said that her weakness was that anything she deemed pretty immediately captivated her and commanded her attention. And she knew he was right.

"And you say I'll be able to make one like this?"

Eragon smiled at the anticipation upon her face. "In time, but you should not hope for great things with your first, second, even fifth fairth."

"What are we waiting for? Let's start!"

The smile lingered on Eragon's face for a moment longer, before it became troubled again. Frelsa grew worried. "Ebrithil?"

"Nothing, just… a memory. Yes. Let us begin."

By the end of an hour, Frelsa had two coloured fairths and a frustrated spirit. Her first fairth had barely taken a few minutes, but all that had resulted was a jumble of green and blue with a bit of maroon and dark on the sides. Eragon suggested that she take more time to concentrate on her second so she had spent almost forty minutes just staring at Festa eom Líf in silence, broken only by the occasional murmurs from Kalla about deer stew or something. But in the end her second fairth resembled an impressionist's take on the scene, nothing like Eragon's crystal clear and razor sharp fairth.

As Eragon elaborated to her the mechanics of this magic and how it worked, Frelsa heard laughing nearby. Eragon paused. "Looks like your class is here."

She looked up and saw two dragons swooping in, locked in aerial combat. One brown, one the colour of steel. The brown one was heavier built, muscle clearly defined across its length, front teeth resembling tusks. But the grey one was faster, twisting and turning out of the brown's clutches. The two fought and descended as they flew, drawing closer to Eragon and Frelsa. Though the dragon's snarls were fierce and their snaps were dangerous, it was evident that the Riders weren't fighting to kill, their strikes didn't carry as much weight behind them as a killer's would.

Kalla stirred awake as the brown roared. _Ah, the testosterone fuelled duels males conduct._

The two dragons came closer and their riders came into view, a bare chested Urgal rode the brown, a one handed axe with a strangely reflective copper coloured axe in hand, rode the brown. The grey dragon's rider was a man, helmet pulled low over his face, armour shining and tunic flapping in the wind. On his belt was a grey scabbard and he swung the steel coloured sword over his head, clashing against the other Rider's axe.

Soon, both dragons alighted on either side of Saphira. The riders alighted, sheathed their weapons and rushed forward to greet Eragon. They spoke as one. "Greetings, Ebrithil."

"Greetings, Drukjl, Shepherd. Come, sit down with me."

Drukjl, the Urgal, a young buck with horns that had just made one full revolution, grunted in reply and gave Shepherd a brotherly whack on the shoulder before taking his place on the ground on the left of Frelsa. Shepherd sat on her right and pulled off his helmet.

Shepherd's dragon, Errol, barely larger than Kalla, crawled forward and remarked, _Kalla? You and your Rider, early? This is new._

His voice was deeper than Kalla's, and tinted with humour. She snapped back playfully, _It isn't my fault we're always late, ask Frelsa._

Shepherd didn't even disagree with his dragon's remarks, instead nodding in agreement.

"The nerve," Frelsa muttered to Kalla just loud enough for Shepherd and Errol to hear.

Drukjl's dragon, Dýrgrir, slightly larger than Errol, lumbered over to his Rider and allowed him to reach up and scratch his chin.

_Behave, little dragon,_ Dýrgrir shot at Errol proudly. His voice was several times more gravelly than his victim's.

_Little? _Errol asked in outrage.

"Calm your fire breather," Drukjl said. "Or you shall have a reason to."

None of these threats bore weight, Drukjl and Shepherd were quite famous for the fact that they were the closet human and Urgal on the island. In fact, they were the only human and Urgal who actually enjoyed company of the other race.

_Calm, little ones._

Saphira need only say these three words to draw attention to her, who dared to disobey her? Eragon cleared his throat, "Now, what should we learn today?"

Shepherd gestured to Frelsa's fairths. "How about those?"

"No, it's a private lesson. Neither you nor Drukjl would find interest in it."

Shepherd glanced at Frelsa, seeming to ask: Private lesson? She mouthed back that she'd tell him later.

Drukjl spoke up. "Your quest on Shashnark. The Mainland."

Frelsa perked up. She took any opportunity she could to hear stories of her home. She'd been found on the island shores asleep in a pitch sealed box, seven years of age and no memory of her past. She didn't know her past but Alagaësia was still home to her.

"My quest? You haven't heard the story yet?"

Drukjl made a croaking sound, as if he found the question funny. "Of course we have, Dur Firesword," Drukjl stated, using the Urgal honorific for great teacher. "It would be hard to live on this island and not hear of it."

Eragon's exploits in the war were the stuff of legend among the young Riders, tales of how he slew a shade, used nothing but magic to tear apart gates and throw an opposing dragon aside. And the greatest story was of his duel with the Old King. Frelsa herself had heard the story countless times, but never from Eragon himself.

_Is it true that Fire-tongue and you fought and bested Ushnark by your own? _Dýrgrir asked.

Eragon glanced at Saphira as if referring to an inside joke, who replied, _Not exactly, but it is a story for another time._

"Is it true that you infiltrated Dras-Leona through the tunnels below and slew the High Priest of Helgrind?" Shepherd asked with admiration shining in his eyes.

"Bah, everyone knows that one. Was it true you fell a thousand metres in a fight against the Red Thorn and Murtagh onto Fire-tongue?" Drukjl asked.

"I'd say a thousand is a bit exaggerated," chuckled Eragon.

"Don't mind Drukjl, Ebrithil. But how about your sword, is it true you and Rhunön forged it in one night?" Shepherd inquired.

"Did you and Fire-tongue actually study under Oromis and Glaedr? The only survivors of the Fall?" Drukjl asked this time.

"Students…" Eragon started. But it was no use, Drukjl and Shepherd had started on one of their competitive streaks again. Both began to shout out facts and questions to Eragon, endeavouring to get their master to answer them first.

Saphira cocked one head at them, before growling both mentally and in real life at them, adding, _Little ones, calm the fire in your hearts._

_How about you, Frelsa? You have not spoken your mind on the subject yet._

She looked at Kalla and asked, _What do you think we should ask about?_

The green dragon looked back and said, _Your call. Saphira asked you._

Frelsa thought for a while before answering. "Uh… the Agaetí Blödhren?"

She hadn't known what else to pick but Eragon seemed to smile at the reminder of this event. "Well, we've burned enough time idling. Gather close and we shall begin. Closer than that, I've no wish to repeat myself."

"Let's see, let's see, it began with the werelight. At the stroke of midnight, the Queen of the elves then, Queen Islanzadí reached her left arm to the new moon and seemed to draw a light from it, and produced a small white orb. She walked up the Menoa tree, the matriarch of the forest, the eldest and largest tree, and set the orb in a hollow there. The celebration would end when the light faded to dark. And thus it was begun."

Eragon smiled to himself at these words.

"A feast ensued, tables laden high with fantastical dishes that would make you salivate in the presence of them. At the time I couldn't believe that all of it was devoid of meat. Songs were sung, songs of heroes and quests and ships and also of sorrow of things past. The voices of the elves flowed over each other smoother than creek water, joining with each other, weaving and interlacing together into one great melody. In the madness ensuing, I'm not sure if I slept or slumbered at all."

"I danced with a maiden, listened to the riddles of elves upon the Menoa's branches, heard the riddles of many elves, foremost among them Queen Islanzadí's and… anyway, we saw works of wonders contributed to the celebration. Intricate puzzles, entertaining toys, beautiful arts and strong yet elegant weapons. Many of them I didn't have a clue of their purpose. A shield that would send a sword back with the same force it was swung with, a sculpture of a heron in flight, somehow suspended above a stone pedestal. Rhunön presented an unbreakable shield, gloves that would not melt within molten lead and a sculpture of a wren in flight, made from a solid block of metal and seemed alive."

"I saw great and strange beasts, a she-wolf that appeared in the form of a woman with a grin of dagger teeth. And some elves were just as strange. One seemed like a cat, garbed in fur, another pair had webbed fingers and gills. Their skin was wet and slime layered. There was another with scales like a dragon and fire in him, another who seemed akin to shadow, those who were tall as trees and looked like them, and those with pale eyes with no pupils. The Menoa tree seemed to sway and shake in tune to the melody around us."

"On the third day I sung my song. I would not want to bore you with its full length, but it personified my experiences and journey since becoming a rider, and though I deemed it mediocre the other elves praised me. It now lies in the great library in Tialdarí Hall, but I have another copy in my chambers, which I would be more than willing to share with you all. I learned that Saphira had a flair for art, and presented her offering."

Saphira continued the narrative. _My offering was a black stone, thrice my size. The sides of the stone flowed into each other as if they were waves, connecting and joining each other in an endless tapestry. You could follow one wave across the pillar's side but find that it never had an end. I had made it through heating the stone till the outside grew molten and licked it into intricate shapes._

"It was the most beautiful offering there," Eragon stated.

_You think so? Well, I guess it was because it was _my _offering after all._

They continued the story, listing down such amazing and strange creations wrought by the elves that Frelsa was doubtful that some of the descriptions were entirely accurate.

"The werelight dimmed, the celebration was entering its twilights. Queen Islanzadí gave a speech pertaining to the celebration, and how new hope had presented itself in the form of I and Saphira, and how they honour the blood-oath made between Riders and Dragons ages past and reaffirm it. A clearing was made, ringed with a ring of lanterns. Flutes were blown, harps were strung and drums were beaten. Two elf maids came to the centre of the clearing and stood back to back. Iduna and Nëya, the Caretakers. They unclasped their robes and upon their body was a large, unbroken tattoo of a dragon. The dragon's tail wrapped around the ankle of one and its head ended on the other's chest. Each scale was a different colour and seemed to shine like a rainbow. The pair began their dance, twining and twisting together so the dragon became a whole. They stamped as one. And again. As they stomped, the musicians joined in the dance, adding their instruments to the chorus. And the Caretakers began to twist and turn, undulating around the clearing. Their dragon seemed to fly across their bodies."

"They spun faster and joined their voices to the symphony. The Dragons present, Saphira and Glaedr, hummed along, their voices resonating through my bones. The Caretakers danced so fast that they were a blur, and then a flash of light along their bodies. Their tattoo, the dragon, a shiver passed along its length. It stretched its wings and flew, removing itself from the constraints of the Caretaker's body though its tail remained anchored there. It roared. And its roar seemed so real, it was no phantom. You knew it had power within it, and you were afraid of that power. It looked at me. And its eyes, you would be drawn to them, and into them. They had the flare of life within them. It spoke to me: _Our gift, so you may do what you must._ And it bent down and with its snout touched the centre of my gedwëy ignasia heat flowed through my body and I felt pain as I had never imagined, retreating deep within myself to escape."

Eragon relaxed. "When I woke, I was devoid of any scars. The tiniest wound was gone. And the worst as well. You understand how human riders grow to be like elves in time? I underwent a transformation like that, except it was compressed from decades to an instantaneous effect. I had the body of an elf, I had power unbeknownst to me before, I had the power to defeat Galbatorix."

Eragon lay his sword, Brisingr, on the grass next to him and stared at his students expectantly. "So? What do you think of my story?"

Shepherd's eyes were wide with awe. Frelsa too. Drukjl's expression was unreadable. He answered in his gravelly tones, "It was interesting, I've never heard much of this Blood-Oath Celebration."

_Yes, and even those we hear and read of don't compare to a first-hand account,_ Kalla mused.

Shepherd, toying with a blade of grass, spoke, "This was the only time you visited this celebration?"

"Indeed, I've not been back to Alagaësia since Galbatorix was dethroned, so I have not had a hope to attend another Agaetí Blödhren with teaching the new Riders."

Errol cocked his head to one side. _A fine tale, Ebrithil. But how about tell us another more exciting one? How about one of your battles with the Thorn and Murtagh or Galbatorix himself!_

Kalla gave a playful snap in Errol's direction. _Don't pressure Ebrithil. It's his past, it's his choice._

_We have no time left today anyway,_ Saphira cut in. Her voice was so unexpected that Kalla and Errol jerked back in surprise. Frelsa gave a short laugh.

"Saphira's right. I've whiled away our time talking of the past. Look, it's already twilight."

Frelsa looked behind her. Indeed, the sun was sinking below the horizon and its white rays had faded to crimson, stretching across the dark sky like long fingers.

Eragon shooed them away as he lay back against Saphira's side and closed his eyes, returning to the position Frelsa and Kalla had found them in. Saphira herself lay her head against the ground and her bony eyelid slid shut.

Shepherd spoke to Frelsa, "Meet you back at the Grid."

He and Drukjl mounted their dragons. Shepherd nodded to Drukjl. "Another round over the field?"

"You mean another victory for me over the field?"

"Oh it's on."

Errol and Dýrgrir took flight, roaring at each other as they slammed into each other, each trying to gain dominance over the other as their Riders drew their weapons and struck each other. Frelsa lingered a moment longer. She turned back to Eragon. "Uh, Ebrithil."

"Outside of your class I am Eragon."

"Yes, Eragon." She still felt awkward addressing him by name. "About the fairths."

"Hmmm? Oh yes, you can come to me anytime for additional practice. I believe the library has some tomes on the subject. You shall find some slate tablets in your chambers. Now leave me and Saphira. We would enjoy some time alone."

"Yes."

She walked alongside Kalla as they journeyed back to the Men's Corner. She'd have preferred to ride her but she'd left her saddle back in her quarters.

_So what did you think of the story?_ Kalla asked.

_Let's just say, I have a new take on the 'fair folk'. Fish-elves? Seriously?_

Frelsa passed through the invisible boundary that defined the Men's Corner. Her breathing immediately slowed down and she became calm. This was her home.

The buildings rose on either side. Most of the buildings here were only one or two stories high but as she got further in they rose higher. But what was striking was how gigantic they were. The smallest door was four times her height, and even one story tall buildings were large enough for a dragon of Saphira's size to walk around comfortably. The taller buildings were more slender and bore elfin signs of architecture and favoured green and other cool colours and the shortest ones had the sharp edges and dark colour scheme of the dwarves. They were arranged in neat rows with alleys, perpendicular to the main road she was walking on. The alleys were wide enough for the largest dragon to walk down comfortably, and the main road she walked down was large enough for three!

Dragon roars regularly rang out and clangs of metal still sounded through the pathways. The scent of dragons and dried parchment were everywhere, mingled with the scent of burnt parchment.

Most of the buildings down the alleyways were reserved as housing for scholars and the sort who came to study on their island from time to time. There were so many of them in the Men's Corner that there were as many librarians and scholars and what not as the number of Riders.

Riders and scholars continually entered and exited the alleyways onto the main road, a wide, straight stretch of cobbled pathway. A few dragons, twelve to be exact, walked down the road alongside their riders. A dragon flew overhead, judging by the lack of a saddle or Rider, was probably a dragon going off to hunt while his Rider was busy.

While Frelsa was completely at ease here, this was her life after all, Kalla was on edge. She subconsciously walked closer to her Rider and pressed her wings flat against her body and slinked close to the ground.

_Oh relax, Kalla. If you can't relax here, then when can you?_

_When we get to our quarters. Now move. I've no wish to get trampled by one of th- oh…_

_What is it, w- oh..._

There was no other words to describe it other than gigantic. A huge dragon walked proudly down the centre of the main road. His scales were a deep, rich orange and his jutting chin was tilted upwards. His thick limbs shook the cobblestones with each step and his orange irises panned over the crowd before him as he made his way to the exit of the Men's Corner. Men, dragons and Riders alike stiffened as he neared and shied away from him.

_Is that…_ Frelsa asked Kalla. She didn't need to finish her sentence for her dragon to know her question.

_It is. Rimgrun. A real, wild dragon._

As Rimgrun walked down a saddled crimson dragon nearly twice as large as Kalla but still a fraction the size of Rimgrun exited an alleyway and nearly ran into the great wild dragon. The red dragon was taken aback and instinctively growled at its huge adversary.

_Ohhh, he's dead now. _Kalla remarked with humor.

The humongous dragon stopped in its tracks. He slowly turned and stared down at the red dragon in the eyes. The red dragon snarled at first but soon fear entered its eyes and its snarl turned to a whimper. He tucked his tail between his legs and raced down the alleyway the way he had come.

Rimgrun passed them, and Frelsa backed up against the wall of the nearest building. She felt an immense presence bearing down on her mind, mighty and powerful. She called up iron walls of protection and struggled to hold them up against the dragon's power, and as she did so saw Rimgrun's eyes focus on her for a moment as he lumbered past, those huge eyes staring into her soul, swirling maelstroms of orange storms that plucked her deepest secrets from her mind. Then the contact was broken. The presence left her mind as if she was not worth the trouble.

Rimgrun cut a path for himself through the crowd, everyone parting for him. Wild dragons were both respected and feared, and Rimgrun was one of the greatest of them. He was supposedly the third generation from the original eggs Eragon had somehow rescued from Gods know where.

"Look at that!" Frelsa exclaimed to herself.

_Did you see how strong he looked? How tall he was? He must be ten times bigger than me! And his eyes, how deep they were…_

Frelsa sighed to herself. Kalla always swooned for every wild dragon she saw.

_Where do you think he's off to?_

"C'mon. You said we gotta get back?"

_Yes, but why don't we just go and follow Rimgrun, see where he goe-_

"Off we go!"

* * *

_Wait._

"What is it?" Frelsa asked impatiently. She'd want nothing more than to take a long nap in her quarters.

_I smell something._

"This is the heart of Men's Corner! It'd be a wonder if you didn't smell anything!" Indeed, in the heart of the Corner the alleyways were crammed with scholars and alchemists concocting strange potions. The smell of smoke reached Frelsa's nose. Then she smelt something else, something fainter. She couldn't place it, but it seemed familiar.

_I think… I think I might know what it is, _Kalla spoke with confidence.

"What?"

_I'm not entirely sure but… oh! I remember! Follow me!_

Kalla bounded down the road, a green blur against the dark cobblestones. Frelsa struggled to keep up. "Wait!"

She mumbled sorry to a scholar she bumped, who looked pretty flustered after she had made him drop his tome. She ducked under the outstretched wing of a large dragon and pressed close to a wall to slip past a Rider and his dragon.

Kalla still ran, and Frelsa heard her counting._ 1…2…3…yes!_

The green dragon made a sharp turn and entered an alleyway. Frelsa hesitated for a while before following her. She passed rows of buildings lit with lanterns and candles, then the buildings she began to pass were unlit except by the fading sunlight. The buildings she was passing now were not habituated at all. What was Kalla looking for? A roar reached her ear, and she recognized it as Errol's. Was Shepherd still fighting with Drukjl?

Then she saw the low wall that separated the Men's Corner from the Dwarves Corner. The low wall was not much use at separating the two Corners, men and dwarves regularly vaulted the wall to get to the other side. Was Kalla going to visit Hothgeir? But no, at the last building she turned and jumped through the window of the building. She felt happiness emanating from her link with Kalla. What was going on?

Frelsa reached the building and pressed against the wall next to the door and listened. She heard faint voices.

"Kalla! It's been… you been? What… doing?"

She couldn't stand it any longer. Someone was in there with her Kalla. She rounded the corner and shot through the cloth flap that served as a door, then immediately raised her hands to shield her eyes from the light.

Frelsa reached to her side to draw her sword then realised it was at her quarters. She had not taken it since morning when she left. So devoid of a weapon, she reached out with her mind.

Kalla's presence, nothing wrong there, countless minds of small animals, quite a number of exotic plants, and then a human. She lashed out with her mind at the anomaly, and soon found herself lashed back at. The human didn't bother to set up defences, instead invading Frelsa's mind to protect herself. Frelsa drew up the walls in her mind and waited, but the attack never came.

"Oh, put your arm down. I won't bite."

Frelsa knew she really shouldn't but she did so anyway. Kalla had been so intent on getting here, and she trusted her judgement. She was stunned by what she saw.

Kalla had led her to what seemed a strange mish mash of creatures. A trio of birds fluttered in the rafters above and from the same rafters long vines and capes of moss hung down. Vines of morning glory poured out of a single crack in a wall. A gecko with a yellow belly and blue scales raced up a wall as a spider the size of Frelsa's head leaped after it. The whole room was lit up by two blazing lanterns, one on a desk and another hanging from the rafters. And at the centre of it all, leaning on the desk, was a short woman with thick, curly brown hair. By the way Kalla was at ease next to her, lying down on the mossy floor on the stranger's right, it was clear they knew each other.

"Who are you?" Frelsa asked.

"Me?" The stranger asked, as if for reaffirmation. "My name is Angela."

The name struck a chord but she still could not place it. "Your name sounds…familiar."

"Familiar? That's all? Blast Eragon, I'd hoped that he would include me in some epics of his," Angela said. She now turned to Kalla, "Like it? I've taken an interest in botany recently."

Frelsa spoke in her mind to Kalla, _How do you know this Angela?_

_Remember two years back when I disappeared for a week?_ Kalla replied sheepishly.

_Got me a lashing, you mean. So?_

_Well, I was lost in one of the alleyways, and eventually wound up at Angela's shop. I like her._

_Well that is evident, _Frelsa replied glumly. She was usually mistrusting of strangers who commanded Kalla's affections.

Kalla spoke now both to Angela and Frelsa. _Solembum isn't here, where is he?_

"Oh, probably out hunting rats or chasing down a bird."

"Wait, who's Solembum?" Frelsa asked. She did not like being kept in the dark.

"Oh, just a werecat. Mind you, don't try and force prophecies out of him, he'll give you a real scratching. I know from experience."

_Werecat? Kalla, are you sure we can trust this… I'm not even sure she's human. Did you feel her mind?_

_What happened to 'relaxing'? She's a friend. If a werecat is willing to be her companion than why should we fear her?_

"So, Angela. What… do you do around here?"

The woman turned to look at Frelsa, and she was taken aback by how striking her eyes were, how they seemed to shine. "Oh, I water my plants. Grind a few dried mushrooms, botany and herbs and whatnot, you wouldn't find it interesting. But in my spare time, I've been trying to raise Red."

"Red?" Both Frelsa and Kalla were in the dark on this subject.

"Exactly. Wait, let me show you, Red ! Come on out Red!"

There was a peculiar rolling noise and out from under the desk came a strange creature. It was barely half a metre tall, with a large head and a fairly straight body and tail. It stood on strong hind legs and had stubby, seemingly useless, little two-fingered arms that seemed useless. Its skin was like a lizard's but brick red and its back and tail was covered in large, thick, stone-like plates of armour with black protrusions like small spikes at regular intervals. The stone plate on its large head grew over its forehead to form a heavy brow of armour that seemed made for head-butting, giving it a top-heavy appearance. Its eyes were like little furnaces, blazing with fire.

Kalla snorted in surprise as the creature gave a little burp and a puff of flame left its mouth. Frelsa backed up. "What in the name of the Gods is that?"

"Oh don't be so alarmed, this is Red! He's a salamander," Angela pointed out matter-o-factly, like it should be obvious.

_I was under the impression salamanders were water dwellers with wet skin,_ Kalla said as she curiously sniffed Red, who whimpered as she got close.

"Oh those are just newts, I've proved it myself! Real salamanders look like Red, they grow much bigger of course, and they grow as fast as dragons! I've started on botany to try and find which plants affect their growth."

"How old is he?" Frelsa asked as she watched Red begin to chew on the side of the desk.

"No chewing on mommy's furniture. Oh, he's only five months. Funny story actually, I met a man with a donkey with a bald patch of fur that resembled a rooster's head. The man had cheated me in the past in a game of Knucklebones so I played a game with him to show I was superior. I won one of his exotic caged pets. Between you and me, I cheated."

"And Red can breathe fire?"

_Dragons don't breathe till they're six months, at least, _Kalla remarked in admiration for the little armoured creature.

"Oh, dragons and salamanders are very, very closely related, but Red could breathe from their first day. All salamanders can. I've been trying to name him something other than drab old 'Red'," Angela spat out the name in disgust. "But he won't accept anything else. Can you believe he'd turn down the name Winkershmaw?"

Angela whispered, seemingly afraid that Red would eavesdrop, and she spoke as if refusing to be named Winkershmaw was unbelievable.

Red curled into a ball, tucking in his strong legs and short arms, adopting a foetal-like position. His tail was long enough that when he curled up it reached past his forehead.

"What's he doing?" Frelsa asked.

"Oh, moving around is hard with all that armour. So they've come up with an ingenious solution!"

As Red curled up Frelsa noticed that all his armour plated now faced outwards, protecting his soft skin. He tipped back, then forth, then began to roll. It was strange, watching the creature roll back to under the desk with such speed.

"Well, Angela, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but we must leave," Frelsa stated. She didn't exactly feel comfortable in the herbalist's domain.

"Oh it's fine. People are busy on this island. Always scurrying around the place looking for something to do. That's why I chose this spot, no scurriers to come and disturb me. This isn't the last time we'll meet."

"Uh-huh." Frelsa was glad to be leaving. "Kalla, come on. We've gotta go."

Kalla reluctantly got up and followed her Rider out. As she opened up the tent flap and exited into the alleyway, she heard Angela chuckle from behind her.

"No, it's definitely not the last time we'll meet. Now who wants potato slices Red?"

_You trust that crazy old witch? _Frelsa asked her dragon.

_I trust Solembum. If he'd been there, you would trust her too._

_Oh sure I would._

_Yes, yes you are._

They bantered like this for a long time until they reached the Grid. At the very end of the main road was a large circular courtyard. In the centre of the courtyard was the observatory, stretching high into the dark sky. Arranged in an orderly fashion, radiating out from the courtyard in a grid-like fashion, was the Rider's quarters. Each building accommodated two Riders and their dragons, and was three stories tall. The night lanterns were beginning to light themselves, floating from concealed crevices and onto posts and stands.

Frelsa followed directions she knew by heart. _Turn right from the road, follow the courtyard till you passed the eighth passageway then turn right. Pass the first building, and you have reached your home._

Even here, the small alleyways were big enough for a dragon five times Kalla's size to walk. Kalla was only about the size of a large horse. Frelsa and Kalla entered the alleyway then turned past the first building, and reached their 'house'.

Once they entered through the huge doors, made to allow dragons through, it became clear that they were not alone. Shepherd already lay on his bed, soiling the clean sheets with his dirty armour. There was a second floor, more like the bare floor of the second floor. That floor was reserved for the dragons, if they wanted to sleep away from their Riders. There was more than enough space one the first floor for both to sleep in peace. It was also used a landing pad for the dragons and they could take off from it. Above the second floor was an empty space till the roof far above, which could be opened with magic to let light in or keep rain out. There was a skylight in the floor of the second floor to allow the dragons the move up and down. The whole building was shaped like a human house with a roof that sloped gently to one side.

On the first floor, the two back rooms were two separate shower and bath areas, which could be locked from inside. The main area of the first floor however, was four beds, two perpetually empty. Each bed was placed at one corner of the area and had a cupboard and wardrobe to themselves. There was also a folding changing screen for each bed. The area in between the beds, at the centre of the room, was designed to be a communal study area, filled with soft, padded chairs.

Frelsa noticed a stack of slate tablets on her bed, just as Eragon promised.

Kalla flew up through the skylight to join Errol who was most probably already there. Frelsa went to wash herself up, but not before wrinkling her nose in disgust at Shepherd. "We have these elven bath stations for a reason you dirty little…"

He just grunted in reply, dignified as ever. After she had washed up using the bath station, she had never gotten over her amazement at the baths, she exited to find a clean and groomed Shepherd in the same position as just now, lying tired on his bed. Except now he wore a fresh red tunic and his brown hair wasn't greasy with sweat.

"How did you..." Frelsa was still wiping her hair as she left the shower room. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Hah!" Shepherd exclaimed.

He got up and seated himself in one of the comfortable chairs at the study area under the skylight while Frelsa sat on her bed.

"So what's this I hear? Frelsa, actually going for one-on-one classes with Eragon? Actually doing more than her due? It's a miracle!"

Frelsa scowled at him. "Sure, sure. Just ask Kalla, she'll back me up right?"

_Miracle it is, _came the reply from above.

Shepherd gave a laugh and asked again, "So, tell me. What's the deal with these lessons?"

"What deal?"

"The Frelsa I know would never go for extra lessons without something in it for her."

"You don't believe I just want to be a great student?"

A glance at Shepherd's incredulous face was the answer.

"Fine, remember the incantation Eragon gave us? Reisa du laufsblädar lífblödh?"

"Yeah, 'Raise these leaves' lifeblood'. Should've just told us how to say water. So?"

Frelsa continued, "So he just said prepare the incantation, he'd use it in a future lesson. But I tried it myself, on one leaf and it was easy enough. So-"

"You tried it on a pile of leaves?"

Frelsa was surprised. "How'd you know?"

Shepherd chuckled as he poured himself a cup of water from a glass pitcher. "Frelsa, I've lived with you ever since you've gotten your dragon. That's what, three years? I know more about you than you think."

"Alright, so I try it on a pile of leaves, then it went well enough."

_She nearly blacked out. And would've died if not for me._

"Who's telling the story here?" Frelsa asked, glancing pointedly at the ceiling. "Anyways, so I go tell Ebrithil. He gets mad for a while, then he calms down and asks me what interests me. I say art, so he starts teaching me how to make fairths. Using magic to 'paint' a scene before you on a slate tablet."

"So that's what they're for."

"Yup, then you two showed up."

Shepherd took a swig from his glass of water. "You do know you're in dangerous territory don't you?"

"What?"

"It's dangerous for a…" Shepherd gestured at her. "…female, to go for private lessons with Eragon."

"Oh please," Frelsa couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd heard her fair share of incredulous tales that Shepherd and Drukjl contrived in their spare time but this one topped them all.

"I'm serious! Hear me out. You know the rumours that say he charmed an Elf princess years ago?"

"Rumours," Frelsa reminded him.

"What if they're more than rumours? What kind of man would be able to charm an elf?"

"A Rider. The _only_ Rider."

"Granted, but this was the princess. And you know that Rider, who was she? Oh yes, that woman and her yellow dragon, Ysoldine? The ones that made a scene when they left the island? Remember how she professed her undying love to Eragon? She had requested for private lessons and attended them religiously for two years."

"So? One crazy woman."

"Make that two. I heard from one of the old hands that back about twenty years there was another Rider. Her name was Wildine or Windine or something along those lines. She did the same thing as Ysoldine. Sang Eragon a poem of their eternal love for him. Four years private lessons."

"Seriously, Shepherd?" Frelsa didn't know whether to be angry or laugh. "Eragon's has privately tutored hundreds of students. Two of them doesn't make it a majority."

"But you can't deny that-"

"Ebrithil's done amazing things. He toppled the king, brought peace to the known world ad re-established the Riders Corps. Some will be invariably attracted to the power behind a man who could do that, and in turn to the man himself. In fact I'm amazed there's only been two cases!"

Shepherd was unconvinced. "Say what you want, I'm just saying, be careful around him."

* * *

Hi! This is BOL here, and this is my first story so I hope I haven't failed... that bad. Anyways, due to some confusion by a reader who asked for a reference to imagine Red's appearance, think of a red skinned baby T-Rex with a rounder head and thick red stone plates as armor. That's the most I can simplify it.


	2. Sorrow at a Party

"Concentrate! The weapon is not a weapon, it is an extension of your arm!"

Eragon sidestepped a hack from Drukjl, parried a blow from Shepherd and leaned back against a slash from Frelsa. Duelling three Riders at the same time, even young ones such as them, was a feat many deem impossible.

Eragon raised his blue blade against the blade of Drukjl's axe, an enchanted, unbreakable mahogany handle fitted to a copper coloured axe blade of brightsteel, so that the axe hooked over his sword. He spoke again. "You have strength in you, Drukjl. Use it!"

He stepped back and feinted in one direction before striking at a weak spot in Shepherd's armour with a blow to the ribcage with the flat of Brisingr. He stabbed again but Shepherd hopped back and parried the blade.

"Ha! You are learning, good! Don't stop, parry and strike! Parry, strike!"

This Eragon seemed a completely different person to the one who taught of fairths and wanted only to lay against Saphira and close his eyes. Saphira was currently on the other side of the island, teaching their dragons of how to properly utilise thermals and where to strike when attacking another dragon. Frelsa was faintly aware of the information being passed from Kalla to her.

She gripped her blade, a long, green, slightly curved one sided blade which tapered ever so slightly, Delswoir, elegance in the Ancient Language. Eragon spun and slashed across Frelsa's face. Taken by surprise, she raised the flat of her blade to deflect it but the blow was too strong and the weapon was knocked aside.

"Do not block the attacks of a stronger opponent. Dodge them! Lean back, sidestep. Be a reed and bend in the winds."

Eragon stabbed again, and Frelsa followed his instruction and quickly stepped to the left. He smiled and raised his blade to parry another strike from Drukjl. She didn't know the names of Drukjl's bronze coloured axe or Shepherd's steel coloured sword. It was something of a tradition in the new Rider's Corp to keep the name of their weapon a secret.

She swung Delswoir in an overhand strike which Eragon casually leaned back to dodge. It was then Shepherd and Drukjl struck simultaneously, the Urgal swinging at Eragon's bare head while the human swung at his legs. Their master raised his sword and blocked the axe swing before raising one leg, allowing Shepherd's grey sword to pass under it, and before it touched the second, stamped down on the blade with such force that it was yanked straight from its owner's hands.

When Ebrithil finally stopped the sparring session, Frelsa suspected it was more for them then for himself. His silk tunic didn't have a bead of sweat on it nor a speck of dirt. He looked as if they had not just sparred for an hour. Shepherd nursed his bruised knuckles while Drukjl inspected his axe. Urgals and dwarves had requested to break the norm of only swords for weapons in the eighth year since their admittance into the fold. When the request was granted, the variety of their weapons blossomed. Axes, hammers, clubs, even crossbows with brightsteel bolts that magically reappeared in their quiver. This was all made possible by a collection of brightsteel laden meteors said to have crashed in the North side of the island, the side of the Wild ones. The weapons were made by the dwarf Hothgeir, a dwarf whom Kalla seemed to favour. He had been taught by Rhunön herself and now made the Rider's strange, assorted weapons.

They all sat there on the sparring field, bruised and battered from whacks by the flat of Brisingr. Eragon stood before them. "It matters how you were taught, but you must make a style for yourself that suits yourself. If you are strong, you must learn to hit hard and block well against faster opponents. If you have technique, adapt it to your opponent. You would not raise a shield against a giant or a weighted hammer to slay a fast rabbit. And if you are the rabbit, learn to be quick and nimble. The enemy cannot kill you if their weapon cannot touch you. Furthermore, I must-"

Eragon paused. He stared at a point somewhere behind them. Shepherd asked, "Ebrithil, is something the matter?"

"Yes, the matter is that I will never get used to a Kull charging at me."

Frelsa turned around. There was a nine foot tall Kull sprinting right at them, disrupting lessons he cut through and barrelling past duellers. Frelsa gripped Delswoir's handle. She knew she shouldn't be fearful of Urgals, she was Drukjl's second closet human friend after all, but she'd heard enough tales of their deeds on the mainland.

The Kull dug in his heels and slid to a stop before them, chest heaving. He was going incredibly fast, even for a Kull of his physique. His entire body was stretched with sinewy muscles and his magnificent horns curled several times over.

"Nar Firesword!"

"Ah, Durlek. What brings you here? Where is your dragon? And what news?"

"He hunts on the far side of the island. A ship has arrived and I was told to report to you."

"The usual? Scholars?"

The new Riders had less strict security measures than the last, their island could actually be reached through ship, granted it had to be made at the right time of year, under the right moon and with good omens from soothsayers. All passengers had to swear oaths of secrecy and passages to their island were granted only to the extremely learned, extremely skilled in crafts taught or just elves.

"Yes, Nar Firesword. But there was, something else."

Eragon was intrigued. They usually didn't get many special shipments from the mainland. "What was it?"

"A Rider and her dragon!"

Frelsa found this strange. Riders and their dragons would usually return from quests on the mainland through flight.

"Who were they?" Eragon asked. From his expression Frelsa could tell he thought he had gotten his hopes up for nothing.

"A green dragon and an elf."

"What?"

Eragon was stunned.

"Nar Firesword, she bore a crown."

He was running to the pier before the Kull finished.

Frelsa, Drukjl and Shepherd, as they had nothing else to do, decided to follow Eragon as fast they could, but still fell far behind him. Seeing the clouds of dust kicked up in his wake, it was as if the Rider was possessed by some strange demonic frenzy.

_Frelsa!_

She was taken aback by the unexpected call from Kalla. _What is it?_

_ Did something happen? To Eragon? Ebrithil's going crazy, she's flying fast back to Festa eom Líf, said something about a pier?_

_ Eragon's running to the pier too! Something about the ferry, a crowned elf Rider with a green dragon._

_ Crowned elf, green dragon. Got it! Dýrgrir, Errol, faster!_

Drukjl soon pulled ahead of them. Judging by how he had already grown to seven feet tall by this age, seventeen, he was most definitely a Kull.

They raced across the sparring field, they'd passed the Men's Corner and were passing the Dwarves Corner. Most of the Riders and dragons present were making their way to the pier as well. News travels fast.

A great beating came from above, like giant folds of canvas flapping in the wind, Frelsa looked up and saw Saphira's huge shadow pass across the sky.

They were not the first to reach the pier, but there wasn't much of a crowd there. The ship, a huge custom ship designed for the utmost comfort with huge sails of Elfin design, stretching out to either side like the wings of a dragon. The Red Bull was written across the side in white paint. The three of them jostled for space and to get to the front to see their Ebrithil.

Another huge shadow passed across the sky. Frelsa looked up, expecting to see Saphira. But this was another dragon, a green one. And by the Gods was it huge. At least Rimgrun's size, maybe larger. Definitely larger. Big as Saphira? She came into view, another shadow, Saphira's definitely, the sunlight reflecting off hundreds of blue scales like innumerable mirrors. Frelsa was shocked to see that they were both around the same size. She'd never seen a dragon to equal Saphira.

She called out to Kalla. _Kalla, where are you? _

_ I'm in the sky, behind you. _

Frelsa looked behind for a moment, three shapes circled the pier like vultures, soon joined by innumerable other shadows of curious dragons.

_The Big Green? _Frelsa asked.

_ No idea. B-But you better get to the front of the crowd. T-There's s-something you should see._

Kalla was stuttering. She only stuttered when she as excited.

Frelsa pushed and slipped under an Urgal's arms and in between two scholars and squeezed through a group of elfin Riders and finally got to the front.

On the old wooden pier, Eragon stood there with the crowned elf, in plain view for all to see, locked in an unbreakable embrace with her.

Far above, the two dragons, green and blue, were locked in a deadly dance, executing complex aerial turns and twists that Frelsa could never imagine would work. They bellowed gouts of fire and roared in joy.

She heard Eragon conversing to the crowned elf in hushed tones, she could tell that it was in the Ancient Language but that was all.

Soon, Eragon released, almost reluctantly, and walked forth towards the crowd. His eyes shone with tears of joy. _Ebrithil is capable of tears?_

He looked at the radiant elf woman then back at the crowd. He spoke in a stentorian tone.

"The Queen of the Elves has graced us with her presence!"

This was greeted with gasps from many. Frelsa almost couldn't believe it. This elf before them was the Queen? All the way from Du Weldenvarden? But indeed, the elf there radiated a sense of stability, of confidence. She was tempered with years of hardship and mastered herself with a fiery will. Her fine silk robes and crown betrayed a power deep within.

"We must celebrate this joyous occasion! Prepare a feast! We shall dine tonight!"

Another of the senior Riders came forth and announced that all would play a part in the celebration. Each student was to be given a task to complete by their mentor.

When the crowd had at last cleared, Eragon still stood there speaking to the Queen. And judging by their expressions their vigour had not faded. Few were still there except the most passionate of elves and Frelsa and her class.

Drukjl dared to ask Eragon, "Dur Firesword. Our task to complete?"

The Queen looked at Eragon. "Dur? You've earned their respect."

"I would hope so," Eragon spoke giddily. Frelsa was stunned to see her cool master acting like this. "You three, go to Hothgeir. He should have a task for you. Now shall we tour the grounds of Darnan Esta, Arya Dröttning?"

"Yes, yes we shall."

As they walked away, Shepherd asked Drukjl excitedly, "What'd you make of that, Ram?"

Drukjl scratched the bit of stubble he had on his chin. "Remember the elf princess in stories old?"

"No way, the one he charmed?"

"Indeed."

Frelsa scoffed. She knew quite a bit about charms, she had read up on them in the process of trying to find one that would make Shepherd grow a beard. "Come on, if she was charmed she'd be swooning over Eragon, irresistible to his 'charisma'. In fact, she'd be so clingy he'd be dying to get away from her. Did you see the look on their faces? This was no charm."

They both stared at her like she was speaking Dwarvish. She sighed and continued walking. She called for Kalla to come down and get Dýrgrir and Errol to do so as well.

The six of them passed into the Dwarf Corner and looked for Hothgeir. Frelsa was the most familiar with this area so she led the way. She'd always wondered how the dwarves had managed to fit their population of eighty-two Riders and dragons and nearly as many dwarven artisans into this area where the houses were no taller than one story. There were rumours of huge underground caverns excavated below the Corner that were big enough for the dragons to fly in and had enough houses for a thousand dwarves.

Most of the houses here, many were more of gigantic huts actually, were made of bricks, some of metal. They passed a door and saw a single dwarf hold a strip of metal in a forge as a large dragon breathed fire on it. They passed another door and saw another smith holding a bar of metal on an anvil as a dragon bent it into strange shapes.

The buildings were arranged like polka dots on a huge quilt, none coming within a five metres of the other.

_Okay… straight, a left, right till you hit the left mountain arm then straight._

They came upon Hothgeir's forge. It was actually Hothgeir's home, he slept in the same room as his forge. He was given a chance to live in one of the larger, more luxurious homes as the brightsteel weapon smith but he declined. Apparently he thought that sleeping next to his forge improved his forging skills, though they were already at their peak.

He was currently forging some strange sort of metal bow with a million tiny sights on it, some with glass pieces inside that would magnify or reduce the size of the target in your sights. He carefully smelted on one hinged sight, buffing the smelt line till it was non-existent, then smelted on another. After a moment, he seemed to notice he had visitors and turned to them.

"High ho! Vorlvazk my friends!" The Dwarf exclaimed, using the dwarf greeting for close friends as he wiped his bare hands on his apron. He was slightly taller than the average dwarf and incredibly stout. His strong arms were branded by countless different burn marks and his large hands hid a nimbleness which could not be matched. He knew every Rider by name and had learnt of their fighting style and mannerisms before forging them an unbreakable weapon.

"So, what brings you to mine forge and hearth?" He absentmindedly swatted at a patch of his wild brown beard that had caught fire.

_Master Eragon said you've work for us, _Kalla stated enthusiastically.

"He did? Well, sorry to say, I've no work for you mine hands cannot handle. But while you're here, I'd like you to bring this to Eragon for me."

Hothgeir searched through panels laden with finished and fantastical products. He found his target, a ring with many tiny perfect gemstones arranged into a flower. He passed it to Frelsa.

"Pass it to Queen Arya for mine honour. Say that Ingeitum Hothgeir pays homage to her. Mine seating as Rider's weapon smith is an honour that keeps me tied to my forge."

Shepherd looked at the ring. A solid gold band widened slightly at one section, and at that section gemstones were fitted into tiny alcoves on the widened section to resemble a lotus, each petal a different type of gem.

"Skilfully wrought Firebrand."

Hothgeir smiled at the title. "Don't go screaming that name about your Corner, Drukjl. Some of them might not take ah, kindly to it."

Drukjl bowed but Frelsa spied a smile on his lips.

"Remember, you are supposed to be working. Don't let anyone think otherwise, stick with the working crowd. And if you're not, then just avoid the elves. They won't take too kindly to you slacking off on a celebration for their Queen."

When they left, Kalla a little dejected that Hothgeir didn't need help around the forge, Frelsa asked Drukjl about the title.

"Do you know the name Razhid?" Drukjl asked in his gravelly tones.

A shake from Frelsa.

"He challenged a dwarf to a wrestling competition."

Frelsa remembered the Urgal gang leader from yesterday.

"Well, he could not bear to lose the fight, so like a Drajl he broke the rules of the game and called his tjirel, friends as you say, to aid him. Hothgeir saw this and grabbed Razhid by the skin of his neck like a cub and branded his fur."

"Branded!" Frelsa asked in amazement. She'd never known Hothgeir to do such a thing.

"Bah, it was a small brand, just a square patch on his shoulder. Razhid came back in shock. Made a big drajdal over nothing."

As they walked out onto the sparring field, Shepherd asked, "Wonder where Ebrithil went?"

_We should try the Elf Corner,_ Dýrgrir suggested. It was strange for him to even speak when it wasn't needed or when it wasn't an insult directed at Errol or Shepherd.

But she thought over it and realised it was the most logical decision. "Dýrgrir's right. Let's go."

She knew they wouldn't have the stomach to enter but they still had to believe they were doing something. They crossed the sparring field, a buzz of commotion with everyone setting up fine tables and padded chairs for the feast that would commence in a few hours. The chefs in each corner were probably doing their best to whip up their fantastical dishes in the time limit.

Kalla was nearly stepped on by a big beige dragon and Frelsa was almost knocked over by an Urgal barrelling past that she would've fallen if she hadn't grabbed onto one of Kalla's back spikes. When they reached the Elf Corner, it was just as mysterious as Frelsa had thought it would be, in fact more so.

Ghostly lanterns, like will-o-the-wisps or spirits floated deep within the forest, and every now and then a mournful song of time lost by flute or joyous voices singing in clear crystal cool voices reached their ears. Every now and then a light would be blocked by the silhouette of a passing elf.

"So-o-o-o… we going in?" Frelsa asked.

"Ladies first," Shepherd said as he bowed to her, gesturing towards the archway of trees.

_Cowards first, it should be,_ Kalla shot at him.

_Yes, go on right ahead Errol. Your Rider should follow close behind, _Dýrgrir growled as he gave a sharp fanged grin.

_Oh ha ha. Don't remember you saying that when I trashed you over the field._

"I've no wish to say this," Drukjl said, the way he gave an almost comical sigh showed that he had every wish to say this, "but Dýrgrir is right."

As they bickered, Frelsa saw something down the forest path leading into the Elf Corner. She asked her companions to kindly 'shut up' and gazed into the forest.

"Everyone hide! Someone's coming!"

They all scrambled for a hiding place. Shepherd and Errol sprang to a cluster of trees on the left while Dýrgrir and Drukjl slid to the right. Seeing no other option, Frelsa climbed onto Kalla's back and she gave a short burst of energy, just enough to reach the branches up above.

With the strong branches supporting her and Kalla's weight, Frelsa shifted till she felt slightly more comfortable then looked through a gap in a bough of leaves. She say the Queen, what was her name? Arya Dröttning? Yes. She walked hand in hand with Eragon, exiting the Elf Corner. She'd never seen anyone go into the Elf Corner, or come out.

She could hear their voices as they carried up to the treetops, and felt slightly bad for unintentionally eavesdropping.

"This place is beautiful, Eragon. Reminds me of Du Weldenvarden."

"Yes, though I could only hope to ever capture a shadow of the beautiful city."

They stopped at the archway at the end of the Corner.

"You seem troubled, Arya."

On first name terms with the Queen. Definitely got a past with her.

"Tell me, what troubles your heart."

When the Queen next spoke, her confident voice was tinged with anxiety.

"Back in Du Weldenvarden, Fírnen felt something stir here. We lost contact with the island for a month and I… I just had to know you were safe."

Eragon paused for a moment. He seemed to grip her hands tighter.

"I am touched by your concern, truly. And I know what you will say next. And I must…must say no."

"Eragon…"

"I cannot leave this island." Eragon sounded forlorn, as if this wasn't a choice he could make, it was written in fate. "My duties here bind me."

"I sense more than your duties bind you here."

Eragon up till then had found great interest in looking at his shoes, and when he finally stared into Arya's eyes Frelsa could see from her perch the loss and sadness in them.

"There _is_ something else. But we shall not sully our minds with these dark thoughts. We should enjoy the time we have, and wish for more only when it is over. Come, follow me."

Only when she was sure that Eragon was gone did she even dare to speak mentally to Kalla. _What do you make of that?_

_ There's something on this island. Something Big Green could sense in Du Weldenvarden, and if we're very, very, very lucky, it's something dangerous._

_ If we're not?_

_ We'd all be dead._

* * *

"I raise mine glass, to ERAGON!"

A muscled dwarf had planted on foot on his table and another on his chair. He held his 'glass' high, ale sloshing out from inside the tankard.

"Argh, screw you shorty, I raise _my_ glass, to QUEEN ARYA!" a man bellowed as he adopted the same pose.

It was one of the greatest celebrations Frelsa had seen. Long tables had been set up, overflowing with drink and food. Dwarves, men, Urgals and Elves laughed and ate and drunk and sang. Music filled the air and enchanted lanterns floated lazily across the starry sky.

Another, obviously more intoxicated, dwarf adopted the pose and thundered, "I raise mine glass, to- BARZUL!"

The Dwarf had taken a head dive straight off the table. Normally it would be unacceptable to speak like that before the Queen of the Elves but as the night wore on formalities were discarded. His brethren laughed and slammed their tankards on the table.

Urgals were even wilder, a Kull drunk on their harsh beer had challenged a dragon, whom he seemed to think was another Kull, to a head butting match. They roared at each other and whatever pleasantries they had in the presence of other races were gone.

The elves did not drink much besides wine and their strange faelnirv. They produced lutes, flutes and harps and drums and strummed up a melody for their Queen. They sang of her deeds past and feats great.

Eragon had requested his students and past students join him at his table. But besides Drukjl and Shepherd, Frelsa knew none of the other Riders present except those recognised in tales of valor. There was Bandalor, the Dwarf hero who alongside his dragon Knurlkorda had been consumed by a giant Nïdhwal and escaped by cutting and biting through the Nïdhwal and swimming to the surface. Then there was Dran, the man who'd fought the skeletal dragon and Rider conjured up by a necromancer. The skeletons had all the power they possessed in life without the constraints of flesh. But Dran and his dragon had prevailed, splintering bones and destroying the necromancer.

Frelsa realised that Eragon must be very old to have mentored these legends. She glanced at him and realised that the Queen sitting next to him at the head of the table was behaving rather recklessly. She looked at the elf and realised by the sluggish way she moved and how reckless she seemed, regularly laughing with fey, that the great Queen of Elves was drunk. She laughed again and her voice was like the sweet ring of a bell. Frelsa noticed an elegant flask in her hand that probably contained faelnirv of some kind.

Next to her Shepherd burst out laughing at some outrageous joke Dran made about a cow and her adopted goat son. She looked at him in incredulity and at the tankard in his hand. "How much did you drink?"

He swayed as he stared at her. Smiling he replied, "Just a sip… maybe two."

All their dragons sat behind their seats, and even with every single dragon and Rider assembled on the sparring field there was still space to dance.

Kalla craned her neck so it was over Frelsa's shoulder. _If you're not going to drink your mead let me try some._

_ You! Are you sure mead is good for dragons?_

_ Saphira says so._

Frelsa looked over at Saphira, surrounded by four empty casks of ale and rolling around on her back like she was a dog. She'd never imagined a giant like her reduced to this, but she'd pay good money to see Kalla do it.

_Here, _she said as she handed her tankard to Kalla, who gripped the top of the tankard with her teeth and bent her head back to swallow the rest of it.

She looked over at Saphira and saw the Big Green, Fírnen, trying to look disdainful as he stared down at Saphira, still acting like a little puppy dog. She heard his voice, deeper than even Dýrgrir's but more like a melody than a bucket of gravel.

_Saphira… you're not a dog… I think…_

She then noticed the empty casks next to him.

Frelsa didn't understand why everyone enjoyed being reduced to rambling children. Then she heard a clink on the ground next to her. Bandalor had toppled over his chair and a flask rolled out of his hands. The flask was made of silver and there were runes inscribed on it in the Ancient Language. She picked up the cool flask and inspected the runes: Faelnirv.

She glanced behind her. Kalla was gone. Half the dragons weren't behind their Riders.

_If the Elves love it then how bad could it be?_ She thought as she pulled the cork out of the flask and took a swig and nearly gagged on it. The drink burned her throat on its way down but once it fell to her stomach a peculiar sensation of heat began to spread up throughout your body and to through her limbs to the tips of her fingers. She realised how much stress she had been under since she came to the island. Training every day, magic, mental, sparring, then the rules. So many rules that you didn't know whether they were made to help or kill you. She needed something to help her put all that behind her. And that something was in her hand.

Frelsa took another drink, and the same warm sensation spread out through her body. Her eyes felt…fuzzy? She saw Kalla trying to roll one of Saphira's unopened caskets of mead away. Kalla, that blasted, beautiful dragon. She'd have to kill a great beast or defeat some powerful fiend someday to be a Rider of any standing, but she had Kalla now, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the faelnirv did too…

Saphira had just noticed that one of her caskets was missing. Bandalor snored away peacefully and Shepherd was arm wrestling Drukjl, at a disadvantage due to all the strong Urgal brew he'd been drinking. An Elven Rider began to proclaim loudly of the time he'd slayed fifty seven Nïdhwal alongside his dragon while he hung onto her with one arm gripping her tail and the other wielding his sword.

Frelsa downed the rest of the faelnirv in one go. What was going to happen to her and Kalla? All the Riders? What was this thing Eragon and Arya spoke of? Some sober part of her mind asked these questions. Why bother? Answered the not-so-sober part. She remembered leaving her chair and seeing Saphira begging Fírnen, still like a dog, sitting on her hind legs and with forearms folded, for the cask he didn't steal, but he was still negotiating a deal anyway. Kalla had smashed a hole in the side of the cask and lapped up the mead.

She remembered the songs pouring through her soul, taking shape as beautiful far away landscapes and quiet forest paths. Then the dwarf songs materialised in her addled mind as battles of valour on the fields of war and huge gem filled caverns. The familiar sounds of men conjured visions of glory and victory, bravery and loyalty to their brothers while the Urgals' tribal tones contrived a setting of great beasts slain and herculean feats of personal strength.

Herculean. Hurrrrcuuuuleeeeaaaauuuuun. What kind of word was that? Where did it come from? Silly humans. Making up words.

Frelsa remembered dancing with Shepherd, then with a young elf, then a young man, then a wizened old man with a face of wrinkles. She didn't get the last part. She remembered seeing a dwarf steal a drum from an elf and start banging the drum dementedly as the elf chased him. An intoxicated Kalla offering her the rest of the smashed open casket of mead. Presenting Hothgeir's ring to Arya who slipped it onto her index finger and bore it proudly.

At one point Dýrgrir tried to sing a poem to Queen Arya, but had seemingly forgotten how to communicate with his mind. The result was a humorous series of grunts, growls and even a squawk. She heard a few thoughts from Errol wondering how a dwarf would taste like and Kalla formulating a plan to steal another casket of mead from Saphira, who now lay on her side and hugged the casks possessively close. Eragon took Arya's hand and led her onto the grass for a dance.

Before she blacked out she remembered laughter, muted speeches, toasts to honour brethren, and a drinking contest with an Urgal.

* * *

When she came to it was in the wee hours of morning, the Sun's first fingers had not grasped the edge of the horizon. Many lay unconscious or asleep across and on tables, and many more on the grass. She got up and held one hand to her head. Each step she took seemed to jar her brain a bit out of place, sending it flying around her skull. She felt as if her brain were flying faster and faster and weakening the bones in her skull.

Frelsa stopped at one point and pounded her head against a table, realising why she didn't drink. She wondered if there was a spell to cure this torture. She reached for the kite in her mind, now swinging in lazy circles, and grasped it, spitting out the words, "Waíse heill!" Nooothing happened! She got up and started walking in no particular direction, tripping over a sleeping Errol who growled softly.

She stepped over any bodies she came across, feeling sorry for the torture they'd endure when they woke up.

_Wait… is that vomit coming up I feel? _After a couple of staged retches to goad it out she assumed that it wasn't.

She walked a bit more, and saw Saphira and Big Green lying as close as possible to each other, Big Green laying his neck across Saphira's. She looked at their spikes and realised that the pounding in her head was as if someone was trying to force one of those spikes through her skull.

She walked a bit further and walked into a huge oak. She regretted it soon after as the pounding redoubled and her world seemed to spin. Frelsa just lay down under the cover of a bush and closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain. Somewhere, someone retched and another groaned.

"That was an… interesting celebration."

At first Frelsa thought she'd said it until another voice spoke.

"You should see the ones they make me attend on the mainland."

A laugh that seemed to echo in her mind. The first voice, that was Master Eragon. Then the second was almost definitely Arya.

"How do you survive back there?"

"It gets bleak sometimes, but when I am forced to attend celebrations at the capitol I find some pleasure in watching those suffering from the night's festivities and without knowledge of healing we know."

She'd kill for the words to a healing spell to cure her pain.

"Eragon…"

Frelsa opened one eye and saw through a gap in the leaves, Eragon cupping the face of the Queen in one hand.

"You know I would if I could, but duty binds me here."

"Eragon, I do not like being kept in the dark on such things. If it was just duty you could leave another in charge for a day. Maybe two. But you have not so tell me what binds you here?" Her tone had grown more serious.

Silence.

"After all we've been through you cannot confide in me? Tell me the truth, Eragon."

He looked at her in a pained way. "I cannot."

"Must it come to this?"

"You do not understand, I have sworn in the Ancient Language never to reveal this secret until another who has not sworn sees it for themselves. And it is a burden I would never wish to thrust onto another's shoulders, least of all the ones I love. You."

"You know I can handle the burden."

"But at what price? You have endured hardship but nothing like what consumes me from inside. But I can tell you that I did not chance upon this island."

An uncomfortable, awkward quietness ensued. Even the retching far away stopped.

"You do not trust me…"

"Yes I do, I do trust you. I do, but-"

Frelsa saw the Queen spin on her heels and walk off without another word. Eragon stood there, looking after her. For the second time ever, she saw a tear creep down his cheek. But this was no tear of joy.

She heard him mutter to himself, "So it has ended. What more will you take from me?"

Frelsa knew that the question wasn't aimed at Arya.

* * *

26-11-13

Hello to whoever may be reading. Didn't write as much as the last chapter because I tried to write the whole of chapter 2 in one day, but with luck, I'll probably have chapter 3 up in 24 hours. Btw. I updated chapter one recently, added some at the end. If you haven't seen it yet just check it out. God, I need sleep. Hopefully my sleep deprived state made describing the drunk scene a little better. See ya in chapter 3!


	3. What's behind the mask?

When they found her, she was still under the bush. She had managed to walk from the sparring field back to the Elf Corner and seemingly fell asleep under the bush. Light pervaded the dark sanctuaries of her closed eyes and she opened them to see… an ugly face.

She screamed, "God's above!" The Urgal standing over her chortled and turned behind him, calling, "Drukjl, I have found the human you search for!"

Drukjl and Shepherd soon came over, the latter supporting her as she got shakily to her feet. She was not sure she'd be comfortable with Drukjl holding her like that anyway.

"Hah! You've drunk well the past night!" Drukjl exclaimed, making 'drinky drinky' gestures with his hand cupped around an invisible tankard.

"Did I?"

"Sure did!" Shepherd stated. "Should've seen yourself. You got up on the table, and used a fork like a sword as you pointed at Grthilunz. You know, the Urgal you had a drinking competition with? Well, you pointed at him and you shouted: Come you fearsome beast! I shall show you why women are not allowed in drinking competitions, because we best all the men!"

The two of them bent over with laughter and Frelsa gave a weak smile.

"Heh, funny. I don't feel so good…" All the vomit she had failed to retch up the last night seemed to deem this an appropriate time to strike.

"Woah, not on my tunic. New silk."

"Okay, on your shoes then…"

"Hey!" Shepherd shouted as she and Drukjl laughed at their distressed friend's face.

"Uh, Drukjl, hold her for a while won't you?"

She feinted sweet innocence. "Oh, but I'd much prefer the dashing young gentleman to support me."

Eventually they split roads with Drukjl who returned to the Urgal Corner while Shepherd carried Frelsa back to the Grid. He heaved a sigh of relief when he finally dumped her on her bed.

She stared up at the ceiling of the second floor and saw Errol's grey head poke out of the skylight.

_Sweet dreams last night?_

"Oh definitely," she called back.

He gave a snort. _Easy for you to say, some idiot tripped over my neck last night. Aches like oblivion._

"Where's Kalla?" Frelsa asked no one in particular.

"Kalla? Oh, yeah, we asked for her help because she'd know where you were at once, but she wasn't in too good a mood when we found her. She drank eight casks last night! Eight! Well she was pretty snappy and left us to find you on our own while she went off to hunt."

Then she remembered. "About last night…"

"You want to confess how amazing my dance skills were?" Shepherd inquired.

"Urgh, no! Ebrithil and Queen Arya, where are they now?"

He raised one brown eyebrow. "She and Fírnen left this morning. Didn't hear the sad songs the elves played? Oh right, you were asleep."

Frelsa related the whole story of what she'd heard and seen that night. Shepherd listened attentively, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging agape. Especially at the part when she told of how betrayed Arya sounded when she thought Eragon didn't trust her. When she had finished, Shepherd took a moment to fully take in all in.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked slowly.

"No." Did Shepherd actually have real answers? Not just theories put together by him and Burkjl? Had he actually, Gods forbid, matured?

"Eragon's charms wore off!"

Seems not.

"It's incredible, charms aren't supposed to wear off till their user dies or stops them or- wait why are you looking at me like that."

"Because I have realised, just how incredibly…amazingly… stupid you are."

"Oh come on! Think about it, the charms have been in effect for nearly, when did the stories said he met her?"

"Well he found the island 70 years ago," she mumbled, humouring him.

"Yes, so that means the charms been in effect for more than 70 years. Eragon couldn't have been a master of spells back then, so he was bound to have left some loopholes in the charm."

"So what, seeing him again magically dispels the charm?" Frelsa asked sarcastically.

"Yes! Like those people who hit their head and lose their memory, then when they see something from their past their memories come rushing back! What if when she saw Eragon, she remembered the time before him, and the charm failed when she realised she didn't love him as much as she thought she did."

She was fed up with Shepherd. "How do you explain the end huh? He said: What more will you take from me?"

The passion left Shepherd's eyes and he slumped down into one of the padded study chairs, stumped. "I don't know, could be anything. Maybe he's gone crazy?"

"Hah! See, I win. Drop your theories Shepherd, they're never right."

Errol poked his head out from the skylight again._ Gotta admit it Shepherd, you are starting to sound like the crazy one here._

"You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Thank you, Errol. See Shepherd. There's something else at work here. Eragon said it 'consumes me from inside'. And then 'So it has ended'. What's killing him, what's ended?"

_This ending thing is obviously tied to Arya,_ came the mental voice resonating from outside.

_ Kalla? _

_ One and only. Open up the roof._

Shepherd placed his hand on a metal plate on the wall and sent out a small charge of magic. The plate vibrated for a moment before the roof silently folded in on itself.

'Dang, this Elven stuff runs smooth," Shepherd commented.

Kalla was hovering up above, her green scales in stark contrast to the blue sky. She swooped in and perched on one of the beams jutting from the walls before jumping down to the second floor and laying down so that her head poked out over the edge of the skylight opposite Errol.

Shepherd hurriedly raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Before you kill me for waking you up just now, I just want to say how incredibly sorry I am."

_Calm down, morsel. I've no taste for human. Too bony, and the clothes are a curse to pull out of your teeth. But I must say that your charm theory is absolutely stupid._

"Not you too!"

_By the way, I went looking for Master Saphira and she said there were no lessons today._

"So any ideas on this, Kalla?" Frelsa asked.

_None at all, but you should've seen Master Saphira. Saw her on the other side of the mountain. Tore up a few big oaks, roared a bit, shot some fire and then just lay down there and cried. You know how I said she told me there were no lessons? It was actually more like: LESSONS DON'T MATTER! LIFE DOSEN'T MATTER! NOT WITHOUT HIM!_

_ Wow. Any idea what caused it? _Errol asked as he scratched his neck.

_ Obviously Fírnen, they were mates it seems, long ago._

Frelsa wondered what it was that could push her and Eragon to sacrifice the loves of their lives, to be restricted to seeing them for one or two days a year, if they were lucky.

"Well something's serious going on, something killing Ebrithil. And it's our obligation as Riders to help those in need," Frelsa stated resolutely.

"How do you suppose we do that?"

"We ask him."

They had called out to Drukjl with their mind, calling him and and Dýrgrir to meet them at the side of the sparring field near the base of the mountain an hour before midnight.

When the time came, they left their quarters. The floating lanterns had already risen to their perches up and down the main road. As they made their way out of Men's Corner they passed a man riding high on the saddle of a beige dragon. The dragon was twice the size of Kalla. The rider wore a cuirass of black leather and a pale blade hung without a sheath at his side, his tanned skin shone like copper in the lantern light. He and his dragon paused next to Frelsa and he shot her a smile so blinding he should've given her a warning first.

"Greetings, Frelsa, Kalla."

"Greetings, Shahnz, Dayine," which Kalla echoed with her mind. "Beautiful evening."

Shahnz looked up as if to double check it was evening. "Yes, beautiful, as are you, Frelsa."

Kalla growled at him, seeming to forget that Dayine was twice her size.

"Wo-o-oh. Looks like we got a fighter here. Well, I get the message. See you around, girls."

He shot her another blinding smile before he and Dayine continued on their way. She scowled and Kalla growled again once they were a distance away.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, to which Frelsa replied, "Don't ask."

Errol snarled at Shahnz's back._ I pity Dayine._

Shahnz was something of a controversy, spending more time training to look fit instead of being fit, and wooing maidens. He took regular rides down Men's Corner main road on Dayine, always silent, seemingly wanting to advertise his body. No one knew why Dayine was silent he just was. Frelsa had been on the receiving end of several of Shahnz's flirting attempts, though he was always sorely disappointed. He never seemed to target her when she was alone, just when she had company just to show he could.

As they walked she could see Shepherd stifling his laughter. "So…that happen often?"

Frelsa grimaced. "Shut up."

"Hah!"

When they finally reached the meeting point Drukjl was already there, sitting against a lying down Dýrgrir. He scowled. "What delayed you?"

Shepherd was still stifling his laughter. "Well, get this, Ram, you know Frelsa? The Frelsa we've known for so long? She's actually attracted attention, of the…" *ahem "…male kind."

Drukjl raised one shaggy brow so high it seemed it would fly off his forehead. Even Dýrgrir bared his teeth and gave one of those strange dragon laughs. Kalla saved her Rider from embarrassment. _Well, so where's Master Eragon and Master Saphira?_

Drukjl's brow ratcheted down. "No one knows. Whole of the Urgralgra Otrag," gesturing to the Urgal Corner, "have not seen scale nor skin of Dur Firesword and Dur Flametongue."

"So why are we here?" Frelsa asked impatiently.

"Ahhh, I chose this spot for a reason, you know?" Shepherd told her.

"You do things for a reason?" she asked in amazement.

"Of course, have I ever done any different?" Shepherd puffed out his chest and swept a few strands of loose brown hair back in a gesture to make himself look heroic. Frelsa laughed. Hard.

"Anyways, you know how no one knows where Eragon and Saphira sleep?"

They all nodded.

"Well, I saw how the old hands make their homes in the caves along the mountain arms when their dragons get too big, so I thought maybe Eragon and Saphira do something similar. But they wouldn't stay in any one area that would show that they are favouring the race there over others."

_What is this? Shepherd, thinking rationally?_ Kalla asked with mock incredulity.

_Amazing isn't it? _Errol remarked.

_Indeed… _Dýrgrir mused.

Shepherd ignored all of them. "Well, so where else could they live? Somewhere they were safe, could live in peace. Then Frelsa told me about last night, and I realised if he really had lost so much, he'd want somewhere quiet to brood. Mark of the depressed. Trust me. So where else, but up high?"

Frelsa looked up the mountain. It was impossibly tall, a dragon could fly around three quarters the way up but if they had a Rider the Rider would faint from the thin air soon past the halfway mark. And dotting the mountain side were innumerable large caves, any one of them could possibly be Eragon's and Saphira's home.

A crack of thunder reached her ears. She looked out to sea and saw a legion of dark clouds marching their way.

"How are we going to know which one?" Frelsa asked.

"Indeed, and when to enter? I doubt Dur Firesword would appreciate us entering his home uninvited."

"Yes, yes I thought of all these. There are more than a thousand caves, so which one? Then I realised that half an hour to midnight, Saphira leaves her cave with Eragon. It happened one night so I climbed to the roof to watch."

_Could've made less noise doing it, _Errol complained. _A dragon needs his sleep._

"They don't do much, just go to the pier and watch the Sea. They return at midnight. I found this strange, and happened to glance out the same night next week and saw Saphira leaving again. They do it without fail."

"Don't you find this behaviour a bit obsessive?" Frelsa asked.

"No, it's not. Anything to prove to you that my theories are true. And if we look up and watch for them, we'll see where exactly their cave is in say, 3…2…1… now."

They looked up. A huge patch of stars were blotted out and a few of Saphira's scales reflected moonlight back at them.

"Anyone see where their cave was?"

"Nope."

"Nay."

_I thought you were watching!_

_ Shut up, Errol._

_ Calm down, so no one saw?_

"Appears not," Frelsa said. _Typical_. "At least we have a feel where it is. How high up was that, Kalla?"

_I'd say, maybe halfway up? 4000 metres, maybe 4100._

"Okay so we search that area. Drukjl and Dýrgrir take the left face, Errol and Shepherd take the right. Kalla and I'll go straight up front."

They didn't really object to her plan, partly because they didn't have one themselves.

A flash of lightning appeared over the Sea and the boom of thunder quickly reached their ears. Drukjl looked up at the darker than dark sky. "We have less time to complete our task. The storm moves fast."

As her companions flew up, Frelsa realised she hadn't brought Kalla's saddle, again. She'd used it so little times she might as well throw the moulded leather saddle away. She swung one leg over Kalla's neck and settled in the hollow in her back.

_Come on, let's go!_

_ About time._

They flew up the side of the mountain at an almost vertical angle, Frelsa hanging on for dear life onto the ivory spike in front of her. She did not even dare to adjust her legs as they were chaffed and rubbed against the rough scales. She remembered the time she flew around the island on Kalla without a saddle. She could still feel the pain in her legs.

Another crack of thunder. They had to get this over quick. The wind began to pick up.

_Frelsa, the storm…_

_ We can make it!_ They couldn't afford not to, if they wanted to save Ebrithil before whatever condition he had got worse. She didn't bother wasting breath speaking here where air was thin.

The wind was getting stronger. Frelsa stared straight ahead and felt something strike her in the eye. She wiped it on her tunic's sleeve. Rain?

Kalla had been up till then flying in a perfectly straight line, but now she seemed to stray and waver slightly. More rain. Frelsa gripped the spike with one arm and raised the other to shield her eyes. The rain was pouring now, and Dýrgrir and Errol were invisible.

They heard a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning striking the mountain, followed a second after by a blood chilling roar of pain, then a shape fell past them so fast it was a blur. For a moment they heard a dragon's roar as it flashed past them.

_Drukjl!_ Frelsa called out with her mind. There was no response.

_Kalla, we have to turn back!_

_ No! Dýrgrir can make it. We can't turn back now!_

They still couldn't see nor hear Shepherd or Errol. Frelsa cast out with her mind, looking for them, but they weren't there.

Another flash of lightning and a crack of thunder. The wind was so loud she knew if she thought to Kalla she wouldn't hear. Kalla herself wasn't able to fly in anything resembling a line, just going in that general direction.

She tightened her grip on the ivory spike and realised how wet it was. She thought she heard Kalla saying something but she could barely hear the thoughts. Her long hair was whipping all around her face and she wondered whether she'd become bald. Her dragon jerked and Delswoir nearly slid out of its scabbard and into the night sky but Frelsa managed to grab the hilt and push it back in. She could not lose Delswoir.

Then the wind seemed to grow even stronger, and suddenly Kalla was blown to one side. Maybe a wing raised at the wrong angle. The wind caught the membrane and Kalla and Frelsa were spun to the left. She knew she couldn't hold on. Her hands easily slipped off the rain-slicked spike and she flew off Kalla's back. She screamed both mentally and physically and stretched out a hand trying to reach Kalla who had already disappeared in the pouring rain.

She tumbled through the air, trying to figure out which way was up so she could adopt the free falling posture she had been trained to use if she ever fell off Kalla. _How was she supposed to do it again?_ Asked one part of her brain. _Scream and die_, answered the other. Her limbs flailed uselessly through the air. Soon the ground would come rushing up like a wall of death and it would all end. She felt the air blowing through her fingers and rain pelting her face.

Then something large slammed into her back. Had she hit the mountain? Was she dead? No, Frelsa was still flying through empty air. Then something else slammed into her, two strong claws that grasped her shoulders and did not let her go. Her fall slowed down, and she looked to her shoulders. Barely visible through the rain, but the scales on the claws were most definitely green. She reached out with her mind and felt Kalla's familiar presence.

They flew up for a moment before Kalla made a sharp down turn and Frelsa saw a gaping black hole appear through the rain. She almost cried with joy, but if she did her tears would have been blown away.

Kalla would've hit the huge cave mouth smack in the centre, but a strong gust blew them to one side and her wing collided with the right side of the cave mouth. The impact to her side was powerful enough for them to be sent careening and spinning through the empty space within the cave. As they flew, just for a split second Frelsa saw it past before her eyes. A wing, mangled and bent at all the wrong angle, bones splintered and membrane torn all the way from the far edge to the bone frame.

When they landed Frelsa was thrown with such force she collided with the cave wall. She felt a sharp, mind numbing pain and glanced down and realised arms weren't supposed to bend back like that.

Her last sight before her vision dulled to shadows, was Kalla, lying on the floor grasping weakly with her foreclaws for her Rider.

* * *

When Frelsa regained consciousness, she felt a numbness in her left arm. She looked down and wished she hadn't. She felt the stinging of vomit in her throat but managed to keep it down. She looked over and saw Kalla, spread-eagled on the cave floor, her wings stretched out over the cool stone. The left wing was ok, perfectly fine, but the right…

"Oh Gods…"

The vomit fought its way back up and splattered against the stone floor. She tried to get her mind off the acrid stink in her nose by concentrating on the world outside.

On any other day, she would've seen the serene form of Festa eom Líf, the huge sparring field, the four Corners. Dragons soaring through the sky and riders duelling. Teachers instructing classes. Students wandering freely alongside dragons and laying down in the grass to relax and study. But not today. Today the rain pounded on the island, the droplets obscuring anything past the mouth of the cave. An impenetrable grey cover over her world. What happened to Drukjl and Dýrgrir? Falling at that speed was definitely not good for their health. And she hadn't even seen Errol or Shepherd after they left.

There was a faint flapping noise, barely audible over the pouring rain.

"Errol? Shepherd?" She called to the rain at the mouth of the cave.

The flapping grew louder, and something brushed against her mind. That was definitely not Shepherd. She lifted up her arms and cowered as a powerful presence bore down on her, immediately breaking down her barriers with what seemed like no effort at all. It sorted through her scattered thoughts at great speed, seeming to have found what it needed.

Frelsa backed up all the way to Kalla, breathing raggedly.

A shadow appeared in the rain, and a great creature burst forth like through a waterfall, rain flying from its body onto Frelsa and the incapacitated Kalla.

It was so large that with wings stretched it spanned the entire width of the giant cave. It was a beast of shadow, indiscernible in the dark. A smaller shadow detached itself from atop the great mass and dropped to the ground, boots clacking against stone.

Frelsa shakily drew Delswoir, her hand shaking so much that she wasn't sure the weapon would be much use. The shadow walked forth and raised one hand, muttering, "Garzla."

A mellow werelight grew in the shadow's hand and revealed him to be flesh and blood. Frelsa lowered her weapon as she stared into Eragon Shadeslayer's face.

"How did you find me?"

"I think the better question would be: How did you find my home?"

Eragon flicked his arm forward his werelight shot forth to attach itself to the roof and flaring to a great intensity, illuminating the entire cave. Or home. There was a huge bed made of animal hides, rags and cloths. The bed was so large that two Saphiras could squeeze within it. There was no bed for a human. A wardrobe was fixed to a wall and there was a shower station at the other side. The floor was marked with a thousand claw marks from where Saphira had landed and taken off so many times. It seemed that Kalla had flown true and delivered them to their target.

Saphira herself stood at the mouth of the cave, silent till then. _Answer, little one._

"I-I was out flying with Kalla when the storm started. It blew us to the mountain and Kalla saved us by flying into this cave," It was a feeble lie. Even she knew how unconvincing it sounded. "But that doesn't matter, her wing got hit on the way in, you need to help!"

Saphira growled. She obviously did not appreciate her home getting invaded. Eragon walked over to her and held her giant snout with one hand, seeming to have a conversation with Saphira. He ended with, "Yes, yes I agree."

He briskly made his way to Kalla's side. "You did not use any healing spells?"

"No, I didn't think the ones I know would work."

"Good, if you did you might've caused irreparable damage. Move over."

Frelsa tried, but her arm flopped to the side and the shattered bones collided with stone, causing her to cry out. Eragon glanced at her and his furrowed brow became more pronounced. He instructed her to keep her arm as still as possible and not move.

He stepped over Kalla's dying body and lay one palm over her crushed and mangled wing. Mumbling a simple, "Waíse heill." Amazingly, with the simplest of healing spells damage she had considered impossible to fix. The fragments of bone snapped back into place as if they were magnetised to each other and the delicate membrane seemed to reknit itself. All of this with two words? How powerful was he?

Kalla's chest heaved, then relaxed. Her breathing regulated and the snarl let her snout. Eragon stepped over the now fine dragon and crouched down next to Frelsa. "Uncover your arm."

She reluctantly moved her right arm so her shattered limb was bare. Eragon grimaced and held out his palm and mumbled, "Waíse heill." Frelsa turned away. She'd never gotten used to the healing of even tiny cuts.

For a moment all sensation in her arm was lost and she felt something under her skin moving and twisting. She risked a glance down just as the last bone found its place. Perfect. Not a single scar. Even that little one on the skin between her thumb and forefinger she never even knew how she had gotten. Nothing there. The skin felt soft and bouncy like a baby's.

Saphira gave a short leap, short leap to her that is, to Frelsa it was gigantic vault over the heads of her, Eragon and a sleeping Kalla.

Eragon sat on the edge of the giant bed. "Mind telling me why you're here?"

"I already told you I-"

He silenced her with a raised hand. "I've lived long enough to recognise clumsy lies. I'd prefer not to use a spell to force the truth from you."

Frelsa gave a sigh. Seeing no other choice, she told Eragon the truth. How she'd seen and heard his conversations with Arya and tried to find out his plight to help him. She omitted the part where she'd told Shepherd and Drukjl.

"So, when I found Drukjl and Dýrgrir clinging to life by a thread on an outcrop further down the mountain, it was a coincidence?"

"Ebrithil, they must have-"

"How about Errol? And Shepherd. They had crashed into some trees on the Wild side of the island. Errol's wing got torn off!"

_What?_ She sensed muddled emotions of concern and fear from Kalla.

"Ebrithil, how are they now?"

"Hah! How are they, fine of course! A simple matter to find the wing, got blown around onto the sparring field, then reattach it and heal. Simple matter. Gods, I am amazing."

When she looked up at Eragon, she was surprised to find him with a dirty glass bottle of ale in his hand and arms on his knees. That one bottle changed him, not a hero, not an unapproachable Rider of old legends. He was a different person, and not a better one. His shoulders were slumped, his tunic seemed stained with dirt and soaked with rain. His normally neat hair was matted to his skin.

"Master, I know you are not fine. I know you need help, I'm sure I could-"

"You want to help me?" His voice shocked her. It was the voice of one defeated, not one who led a Corp that defended the innocent.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't share this burden with the _Queen_ of Elves. And you expect me to share it with you?"

Saphira had lain her head on the bed and the water on her scales was starting to evaporate. Eragon had finished his first bottle and started on a second.

Frelsa didn't know an answer.

"I… I don't know."

Eragon simply said, "Neither do I."

"Wait… what? What are you talking about, Ebrithil?"

"Heh, I don't know. What are you talking about?" Eragon was well and truly inebriated.

"Why don't you use a spell to um... _restore_ your sobriety?"

Eragon threw the bottle to one side where it rolled in sad little circles. "What's the point? This, _this_ can relieve me of all my stress. Heading the Riders. Teaching. Putting on this mask for the public. _This_!" Eragon grew agitated, pointing with both hands at his face, matted with wet hair and fixed in a furious scowl. "_This_ is what lies behind that mask!"

Frelsa was scared. Ebrithil settled back into his sad position, head between his knees.

"Ebrithil… if you only let us help you, we could."

"How?" He sounded like a child. "I can't count on anyone close to me. Not anymore. They'll leave. Like Roran, Nasuada, Orik, now her! She was the one I thought I could count on to stay by me, and she's gone too. Just like they said she would."

"They?"

He smiled at her and tapped the side of the head with his index. "The voices in my head, girl. You wouldn't know."

She definitely wasn't liking this drunk Eragon.

She heard him mumbling something about another bottle. In their condition, everything seemed a shade darker. Even Saphira's and Kalla's radiant scales seemed dim and dark. Then the fit began. Eragon smashed his new bottle against the cave floor, the drink spreading out over the flat stone. He cried out and curled into a ball and seemed to want to tunnel through the stone with his head. Saphira roared, the sound echoing up and down the cave. She spread out her legs and shook her head furiously. Soon, they stopped convulsing and Eragon returned to his seat, more dilapidated than before, producing a new bottle of ale from within the piles of clothes forming the huge bed.

A memory came to her.

"Do you remember what you taught me, when you found me unconscious on the shores of the island?"

Eragon lay silent, swirling the last remainders of his new bottle around at the bottom of it.

"Frudhe wiol Thorna Iknol caan frudhe neo…" Frelsa recited.

"Hm?" There was a hint of recognition in Eragon's eyes.

_Fight for those who cannot fight_, she'd remembered the words that had once been branded into her mind but now lay dust laden in some hidden alcove of her brain.

"Frudhe… wiol… Thorna Iknol caan... frudhe neo…" Eragon repeated, struggling to wrap his tongue around the difficult words.

"…un Thorna Iknol wilean neo."

_…and those who will not._

"You taught us that rule. You taught us to fight. Not for ourselves, but for others."

He looked at her, with what seemed like pity in his eyes.

"Give up this fight girl. Against the one who ails me, there is no victory. I've given up this fight."

"Then I will fight for you!" She wasn't about to let her last chance of redeeming her master slip away.

He frowned. "You understand what you are getting into? A promise of death."

"How many will I save?"

"More than a few."

She looked Eragon in the eye. "Let's get started."

* * *

"My Queen…"

Arya turned and saw a manservant standing in her open door and hurriedly placed her crown on her head.

"I assumed you would have knocked."

"I apologise, my Queen, the door was open," the Elf spoke bowing low. "But your meal has been laden."

She turned back to her mirror, waving at the elf. "Ask them to bring my meal to my room. And remind them to knock."

"Yes, my Queen." The Elf said as he retreated out the door, still bowing and also closing the door at the same time.

Arya stared at the mirror as she removed her crown. More of a tiara really. She dipped her hands into the dish of petal scented water and wiped her face with the fragrant water.

She toyed with the ring one of Eragon's students had given to her. A girl with a green dragon just like Fírnen. She'd said it was a gift from Hothgeir. It reminded her of some of Rhunön's greatest works and those of the Dwarves.

Wiping the top with one slender thumb she inspected each individual, perfect gem, which formed a perfect petal, which overlapped to form the perfect flower. The perfect flower.

_"As are you…"_

She cast aside the memory. Just a stray thought about someone she didn't know anymore.

_You _do _know that what you're doing is irrational?_

Arya glanced up at the ceiling. Fírnen was somewhere on the deck, weathering out the storm. Normally, even in this weather, she'd be out there with him, rain soaking her fine clothes, all for the presence of her closet companion. She didn't answer Fírnen.

_He told you he has sworn in the Ancient Language not to reveal the secret. And he told you _that _in the Ancient Language._

There was no way he could have lied. _Yes, but you heard him. He couldn't tell me, but he _could_ show me. But he didn't. He doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm too weak._

_Arya, his judgement is clouded at best. Who would dare to name you as weak? And you saw how different he was. _

Indeed she saw. When he was out of the public, just with her, when he thought she couldn't see. His shoulders slumped and his head hung sullenly. His very mental presence seemed to fade slightly. Eragon was barely able to keep his facade of a confidant leader together.

_Something has been eating him. He has taken the brunt of it. Saphira is barely affected and only through their link._

Arya looked again in the mirror and realised how comforting the sound of rain against the windows sounded. She was silent for a long time.

_I don't know what ails him Fírnen, but I would gladly suffer it with him. _

A wave of affection from Fírnen that she had finally spoke. _He doesn't want you to suffer as he had. _

_I have suffered enough. I could handle the burden,_ she spat vehemently at Fírnen. She wasn't usually so brusque to him, but he his only response was to make a mental replication of the dragon's laughing.

_It is not 'I'. It is 'we'. Whatever storms come our way, we shall weather through them together._

The ship sailed over a large wave, causing the water to slosh out of the bowl and the mirror to tip to and fro.

_We must pray the ship weathers _this_ storm first_, she remarked.

Fírnen gave a laugh but suddenly stopped. She sensed him turning back towards the island.

_What is it, Fírnen?_

_It's… it's nothing. Just the storm. Just the-_

A knock on the door.

"My Queen? Your dinner."

* * *

27-11-13

So, that's chapter 3. I'm not sure how I did on the Arya part, but hopefully I did fine. I'm thinking of writing the next chapter of segments of the chapter from another character's point of view, either Shepherd or Drukjl. I'm not too sure how to write from their dragon's pov, I'll have to read up to check. Well, help me along on this journey and leave a review with suggestions or whose pov I should write from. It'd be greatly appreciated. Oh and btw, this chapter and the last have been shortened to 5000-6000 words so I could release them in under 24 hours. If you'd like a 9000 word chapter I'd have to extend the wait time to 36 hours at least.


	4. Down the Rabbit Hole

Frelsa had been expecting something dramatic to happen. Maybe Eragon and Saphira would rise to their feet and confront the danger that ailed them. Or maybe Eragon would use his powers to transport them to some far away land to do battle with a mythical beast.

Eragon looked at her, then at the bottle in his hand. He placed the bottle on the ground. He put his hands on his knees and with difficulty rose to his feet. He swept back some of his wet hair and smoothed down his tunic. He looked at Frelsa, "Let's Ride."

And then his eyes rolled back in their sockets and he toppled backwards onto the huge bed.

"Ebrithil!" She rushed forward and bent over his body. Saphira snorted. _Leave him, child better to wait until he is sober and alert then go off when he is tired and drunk._

She looked at the behemoth, nearly invisible in the dimming light of the werelight, distinguishable only by her sparkling scales and twinkling eyes.

_Master, is it possible you could perhaps, shed some light on the situation?_ She asked timidly.

The dragon bared her teeth. _Speak not of it! I have had enough pain for a lifetime, I would not relish telling the story of how it came about. You'd be better off seeing it for yourself, or at least from Eragon._

Frelsa retired herself to Kalla's side. The dragon still slept peacefully. Staring out at the impenetrable wall of rain, she wondered how Shepherd had fared when Eragon found him.

* * *

Shepherd woke up in a tree. He had not been expecting that. He was also not expecting to have woken up hanging upside down. Water trickled down the branches and down his upside down body. His legs had an immense weight bearing down on them. He twisted over and looked up, and saw in the branches of the tree was Errol, upside down with his back facing his Rider and right wing spread out and pierced by many branches while the left was pressed close to his body, supported only by the strength of the tree's branches. Shepherd realised his legs were still strapped into the saddle.

It was too dark to see much else past a metre, and the rain didn't help. The storm still poured, but here the roar of the rain seemed muted by the leaves. Rain flowed down the leaves and dropped upon Shepherd. A boom of thunder reached his ears. He twisted up and tried to undo the straps on his legs securing him to the saddle. If the branches gave way under Errol's weight, and they would, Shepherd knew that it wouldn't be healthy for him if he was crushed between Errol and the wet ground.

_Errol? Mind waking up?_ No response. Looks like he would have to do this solo.

As he undid the first strap, a heavy drop of water struck him on the forehead. He growled and wiped it on his sleeve, then realised that water shouldn't be that dark or thick. It was too dark to see much, but he could see that it was a deep, dark colour. He then looked down and realised his whole tunic was caked in the stuff. He cursed to himself. _This is bad._

_Errol?_ He asked again, fearful, though he knew there wouldn't be an answer. Another drop of the viscous liquid hit him again, this time on the cheek. Shepherd begged whatever Gods were watching that their situation wasn't as bad as he thought it was.

A bolt of lightning flared above, illuminating their surroundings for a second. Shepherd saw why Errol hadn't answered. His left wing wasn't pressed close to his body, it wasn't there.

Where there had once been a magnificent, beautifully long wing, there was nothing but a bloody stump, flesh cut raggedly but straight through, splintered bones visible through the flesh. Blood still flowed down from the wound. Shepherd looked at the wound, and cried. He had never felt this helpless before. His dragon was dying before his eyes and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Waíse h-h-heill!" he stammered out. He didn't even have enough magic left in him to stem the blood flow. He had to try again. "Waíse heill!"

A tiny spark of magic, just enough to slow the down the bleeding slightly.

This tiny interaction seemed to stir Errol to consciousness. He didn't budge, just opened his eyes and looked upside down at his Rider hanging below him.

_Hey, Shepherd… _Errol spoke slowly and with difficulty.

_ Shit, Errol, shit, shit, shit…_

_ I think… I think my wing is gone…_

_ Oh you think?_

Errol laughed at his Rider's distress, before that small effort forced him back into unconsciousness and his head flopped aside uselessly.

Shepherd twisted up and tried again to heal the wound. "Waíse heill!"

He wasn't going to try and save himself by unstrapping his legs from the saddle and running like a coward. If Errol was going to die he knew he couldn't live without him.

"Waíse heill!"

Nothing.

The raining seemed to grow more intense. Shepherd snarled as he spat out the words again, "Waíse heill!"

As the storm raged on, he wondered what happened to Drukjl. They'd been riding close enough to see each other, competing to see who could reach their destination faster. Then lightning struck the mountain. They saw a pine far up topple forwards and roll down the wet and muddy mountain side. They saw how the pine slammed into a boulder, like a ramp, and bounced off the mountain side and up and towards them. They saw the huge tree fly through the air like in slow motion. How the trunk slammed into Dýrgrir and sent him and Drukjl falling like a stone. Errol had been faster, and almost escaped. Almost. The tree had struck the tip of Errol's left wing and in the furious winds, such a blow was enough to send them careening away.

"Waíse heill!"

Another flash of lightning. Shepherd turned away, he had no wish to see the stump of Errol's wing. He didn't have any hope of replicating the whole wing with that single spell. The most he could hope to do was to prevent further blood loss.

"Waíse heill!"

He felt the link between him and Errol deteriorating. Errol's subconscious thoughts scattered, and his desire to continue living began to slip.

"Screw you, Errol! You're not dying on me, heal, you stupid lizard!"

Amazingly, the bleeding stopped. Shepherd had expected such a feat to have killed his exhausted body, but then he saw something else. The severed left wing, a deathly pale colour that sickened Shepherd, appeared out of the corner of his vision and was held in place next to the stump as the flesh began to join together. Had he done this?

Then he looked to the left and saw a great blue dragon with the wing in her teeth as another man, also upside down, held his palm over the sever and murmured, "Waíse heill."

Shepherd suddenly remembered that he was the one handing upside down, not them. He recognised them as Saphira and Eragon. So high were the trees and their perch that even at Saphira's great height, with Eragon standing up in the saddle, he could just barely reach Shepherd and Errol.

The skin of the wing and Errol's stump began to join together like a spider web, sections of it filling up. Through the gaps in the web Shepherd saw the bones replicating themselves and making a new joint for the wing. Flesh began to fill up the gap.

Soon the wing was good as new and Eragon gingerly folded it close to Errol's body, doing the same to the right wing. Eragon then attended to Shepherd, but seeing that he was awake, touched his forehead with his index and middle finger and whispered, "Slytha."

He was immediately overcome with the desire to sleep, even if it was hanging upside down from his saddle. Before his eyes closed and his conscious mind shut its doors, he saw Saphira extend her open mouth through the boughs of the tree and extract Errol, with Shepherd still hanging upside down from the saddle, with her teeth, gingerly holding the dragon with her mouth like a mother towards a new born hatchling.

Shepherd's last thought before sleep found him was that his back was gonna hurt from all this hanging.

* * *

Frelsa stared out into the night. She lay one hand on the side of Kalla's scaly head.

_We're in for an adventure, Kalla._ She didn't get an answer. She didn't need one.

Saphira raised her huge head and realised her students were still awake. _Sleep, little ones. We've a hard road tomorrow, if Eragon remembers tonight of course._

Frelsa gave a little laugh at Ebrithil's expense. Saphira had pulled Eragon's immobile body close to her warm scales and they slept peacefully. Frelsa leaned against Kalla's belly and held onto the hope that she'd dream a dream of the time before she had washed up on the island's shores. A dream of the past she didn't know.

She did not.

* * *

In her dream, she was in Angela's shop again, but the plants were gone. The animals were caged, and she saw the song birds tweeting sadly from behind metal bars.

Angela was bent over a large crate, packing into it a huge assortment of strange instruments, a crystal ball, a cup of knuckle bones and other strange items whose use escaped her. The Salamander, Red, had grown slightly larger and tiny little armour plates were beginning to grow on his powerful legs. Red serenely chewed on a sprig of a plant she recognised as fireweed, still with a crimson flower attached at the end, as a large, shaggy black cat lay on his armour plates atop Red's head.

The cat seemed to be aware of Frelsa's presence. He turned and looked straight at where she was. She hurriedly reminded herself, _It's just a dream… none of this is real…_

Angela noticed where the cat was looking at and turned around. She seemed annoyed more than anything. "Don't you know it's impolite to barge in on people without knocking?"

She pulled out a potatoe and fed it to Red.

"So, how's Kalla? Oh what am I saying, you're dreaming!" Frelsa for one didn't know how the two things were connected. Angela spoke as if visiting people in dreams was totally normal.

"I was actually trying to get Eragon with my spell but I've never been much of a magic user. Anyway, while you're here, I can read your fortune! Fortunate, isn't it? See what I did there?"

Frelsa knew she definitely did not want to get her fortune read. As Angela laughed at her own pun, Frelsa tried to walk out, but it was as if her limbs were not her own. They moved of their own accord, like she was trapped in someone else's body. Her body forced her towards the herbalist's table. Angela walked over to the table as well and pulled some strange, long, delicate bones from pocket on her dress.

"You know, I used to use dragon knuckles for fortune telling, but I um… lost them. Yes, and I found toad bones work quite well if used properly. Oh what am I saying? I meant frogs. Toads don't exist."

Angela pulled out a cage from inside a box, and spoke, "I've found dragon bones to be slightly unreliable, their prophecies are never the whole truth. One customer, Bandalor I think his name was. Well, the bones said that he and his dragon would have a great feast. They failed to say that this was a feast of Nïdhwal flesh, and he'd eat it from the inside of the Nïdhwal itself. Oh, these dragon bones are so troublesome."

Bandalor's plight had not seemed just troublesome when he spoke of it.

Before she began Angela smiled at Frelsa. "I don't usually operate like this but since I'm in a good mood, I'll give you this prophecy free of charge!"

Frelsa wasn't sure if the method the herbalist used was deemed as proper. Angela sprinkled some fragrant leaves over the bones and placed the hand holding the bones flat on the table. She released her huge pet lizard, the one the giant spider had chased. The lizard scurried over to the bones and swallowed four of the nine delicate instruments.

Angela nodded as if this was very informative.

The lizard hurried back into its cage. "I'll extract the bones from his faeces later."

She picked up the rest of the bones and shook them like dice before throwing onto the table. Most of the bones amazingly, did not break, except for one. Angela shook her head at the broken one.

"Now do you wish to be told your fortune?"

No.

"You have no choice! Isn't that wonderful?"

The herbalist studied the bones from all angles. "Hm, yes, yes. Very intriguing. Oh indeed? How wonderful!"

"My precious frog bones predict that in your near future, it says a deception will end in death… a happening to decide all fates, the breathe snuffed out from one noble and great."

How do you read all that from those bones? She didn't like the sound of this fortune.

"This is dire, very dire. These events may not all happen to you, but more likely affect those around you. I'd tread carefully."

Frelsa really wanted to leave. The black cat looking at her was unnerving her.

Her dream began falling apart, pieces of it crumbling to dark. Angela seemed to know what she saw and spoke in a somewhat lamentful tone, "Looks like our time is up, unfortunately. I hope you found your fortune… informative."

Before the scene changed to dark she saw Angela produce another potato and feed it to Red, saying in an uncustomary sinister tone, "Frelsa, you cannot let Eragon fail in his quest. It would mean the end of us all. Who's a good boy, Red? Who's a good boy? More potatoes for you!"

* * *

When she woke, Kalla was already arisen. She had not moved an inch, careful not to disturb her Rider's sleep.

_Kalla?_

_Oh no, I'm obviously a Lethrblaka come to eat your flesh and crush your bones. Who else could it be?_ Kalla's voice was giddy with happiness.

_You're in a bright mood today._

_Definitely am. Thought my flying days were over once I hit the cave mouth, but when I wake up, good as new. _She stretched out her right wing and gave it a few experimental flaps.

Frelsa got up off Kalla's side and allowed the dragon to stretch her legs, arching her back like a cat._There's something that happened last night that I have to tell you._

_If it's about that whole talk with Eragon, it's fine. I took the um, liberty, of looking through your memories. I must say, there was some _pretty_ embarrassing stuff in there._

_Kalla! _Frelsa looked at her dragon accusingly.

_No worries. We're dragon and Rider. We can share our secrets, can't we?_

_What happened to privacy?_

_'You'll have no privacy. Your mind must be open to your partner at all times'._ Kalla smugly quoted Eragon. _And what's this about Shepherd?_

_Where's Eragon and Saphira?_ Frelsa hurriedly asked.

_Saphira's still sleeping on her bed, behind us. Eragon is under her wing._

When Eragon did wake up, he moaned something about drinking and headaches. Frelsa heard an incantation spoken from beneath Saphira's wing and saw her master slip out under the blue membrane, perfectly fine. His hair had somehow rearranged itself and his tunic looked brand new. She did not want to know if he had changed and washed up in the shower station, in full view, just ten metres from her.

He looked confidant, Brisingr swinging from his side and chin held high, but she still could not get the sight of the dejected man sitting where he stood last night. He seemed surprised that she was there. "What are you doing here?"

Had he forgotten his drunken rant? "Ebrithil, you said we'd go to confront the threat that ails you?"

His frown deepened. "So it was not a dream?"

"No, it wasn't."

"And you heard me…" He made a general gesture of talking. She nodded.

"Yes, Ebrithil."

"It's true isn't it, Saphira?" She growled affirmatively. "The day has come to pass. I could finally be rid of this curse."

He spoke wistfully. Eragon snapped his neck back towards Frelsa. "Frelsa, Kalla. Come. We must away."

"What? That was easy," Frelsa exclaimed.

Eragon turned back towards her as he saddled Saphira. "I've made a promise. I do not break them. And I am due to make my trip there anyway."

Frelsa was quite taken aback by the suddenness. "Aren't you going to tell us any information, Ebrithil? Nothing at all? Just like that?"

"Eragon, not Ebrithil. Not after you've seen me in the state I was in. And yes, we must leave as soon as possible. Before he senses our efforts and struggles to stop us."

"He?"

"You shall learn on the way. Come." With that Eragon saddled Saphira even as she jumped out the cave entrance.

* * *

_Don't lie to me, Fírnen!_

Arya paced the deck, sailors shying away from her as she conversed silently with her dragon, lying serenely on the wooden planks, already dry in the hot sunlight.

_I've told you, it was the storm._

_Then back in Ellesmera? Was that the storm too?_

She had never known Fírnen to keep any secrets from her, even the worst or most embarrassing. She felt angry, she felt frustrated, but most of all, she felt betrayed.

When an answer was not forthcoming Arya slumped to the deck and leaned against the railings. Fírnen bent low and gently nuzzled her leg.

_If it is what I fear it is, then we have no hope of survival._

Fírnen was not usually this melancholic. _You can tell me, Fírnen. Are we not Dragon and Rider? Are we not one?_

He stared at her with his huge, amber eyes. _We are. But there are some things that supersede such bonds, even the one we have. Things branded within us dragons._

Arya hung her head. _First Eragon, now you! What has happened to me? Have I failed as a queen and am now being punished?_

_ You have not failed. _Fírnen's answer was short and absolute, leaving no room for dispute.

_Then why, why must this happen to me?_

_ Because you are the Queen. You will suffer through more than most, but they will respect you for it. You will be admired for it._

She gave a smile a placed one hand on his snout and smiled at his endearing eyes.

_Oh, Fírnen, I-_

"My Queen!" a clear voice sounded out in the Ancient Language.

She looked up for the source of the call. Not on the deck, not there, not over there, but one of the steps leading up to the wheel was a lanky elf with a lute in hand. Handsome, even by elven standards. A few strands of black hair hung over his smiling face.

"Would you like to hear the new song I composed in your honour?"

Arya sighed. Another burden of being royalty. This great fool followed her everywhere she went. She had seen him at every celebration she'd attended, she'd seen him in the crowd the times she visited the new human king, she'd seen him following her and blowing melodies on his flute as she walked through the forest paths. And now he was here. She didn't even know he had boarded the ship. The first few times she'd left him alone for comic relief, to relieve the stress of her duties, but after a while he had become an annoyance. But she still couldn't punish him for so selfish a reason as annoying her. Unfortunately.

"Is that a yes, My Queen?"

"Go ahead, Ilian," she waved dismissively at him, humouring him.

His face became animated with joy. Ilian sprang to his feet and proceeded to sing a ballad of how great and beautiful and majestic and 'awe inspiring' their gentle queen was.

She didn't even know why he bothered. Was he seeking her favour? Companionship? Her hand in marriage? He never told her, just annoyed her with his songs.

As he strummed impossibly fast tunes on his lute, he sang in an amazing voice like a chorus of song birds. He sang an impressive tale of Arya, telling of her deeds and great accomplishments through the war and during her reign. Somehow he managed to rhyme all his words even though he sung in the Ancient Language. She'd been impressed the first, second, third time he had sung to her. By the fifteenth it was torture.

While he strummed, she smiled serenely as she talked to Fírnen, not paying Ilian any attention at all. By the end of four hours, she was surprised he still sang. Seeing how passionate he was, Arya decided to give him some satisfaction. "Bravo, Ilian. You have outdone yourself. The best song by far!"

He did not stop strumming, looking up at her confused. "I have not finished yet! I still have fifty-seven more verses!"

"I have heard enough of your beautiful ballad, I fear if listened much more I couldn't stop."

This pleased him. Ilian gave a small bow and opened up the entrance to the cabins below decks open for Arya.

She cursed. _How did he know I wanted to leave?_

_ Years of following you must have given him a great understanding of your mannerisms,_ Fírnen suggested humorously.

But instead of speaking out, Arya smiled at him as she walked down the steps.

Unfortunately, he followed her.

"My Queen, I was writing the one hundredth and eighteenth verse of my ballad when it occurred to me that despite the time we've spent together, we have not had a meal together yet."

_Yes, why not? _Fírnen asked sarcastically. _You've 'spent' so much time together after all._

"So, My Queen, I was hoping you could join me above decks tomorrow night to share supper with me by candle and moonlight."

_Very romantic, _Fírnen remarked between mental laughs.

Arya didn't really know why Ilian actually expected a yes after she found out about him stalking her for so long, but she wasn't sure she wanted to break his heart. "I'm not sure, Ilian. I have many duties to attend to and preperations to arrange for when I return to Ellesmera, but if I am free I shall join you."

Ilian's smile seemed too big for his long face. He bowed to her and as she walked away heard exclamations of exaltation from behind.

She heard Fírnen's thoughts from above. _So…_

_ Not. A. Word._

* * *

Eragon had cast a spell over himself and Frelsa, so that they and their dragons were camouflaged to all but each other. They circled the mountain to the side on the Wild side of the island. As they flew, Kalla spoke.

_ Frelsa, do you know what we have gotten ourselves in to?_

With a start she realised her answer. _I don't know. Gods, Kalla, what have I done? I've just _volunteered_ to fight what may be the only thing Ebrithil fears. Eragon! The man who turned the tide of a war and has the name Kingkiller!_

_ You bit off more than we could chew, Frelsa._

_ Thanks for reminding me._

Kalla glanced up at her Rider. _Long as we're together huh? I doubt anything would dare to touch Master Saphira._

_ What are you talking about Kalla? By the time they've gotten that close, she'd have eaten them up!_

When she asked Eragon if anyone would notice her absence, he replied that he had cast a spell that convinced all who knew her that she and Kalla had suffered a flight injury so severe that she would be under intensive healing for what could be several days. She felt it was a rather cruel joke to play on her friends.

"Ebrithil!" She called to Eragon. He replied with his mind,_ What is it, Frelsa?_

She took his response as a sign that he did not want to waste breath. _Why did you accept my request so easily? I had assumed you would be reluctant to do so._

Eragon's mind grew dark and shadowy. _I must undertake pilgrimages such as the one before us every so often. I shall tell you why, but not now. And perhaps if you see the magnitude of my ailment, you would see..._

Frelsa knew how he would finish. _You would see how hopeless it was._

The clearings where the veterans taught soon disappeared and were replaced by a huge, unbroken forest. She thought she spied a huge shadow of a dragon near a clump of trees but it immediately disappeared when she tried to focus on it. Saphira began to circle in large spirals, lazily nearing the ground. Kalla tried to replicate the blue dragon's flawless technique but soon opted to simply swoop down and pull up to land.

_Don't raise your wings at that high an angle, Kalla, or you might be cast into the air again, _Saphira chided as she landed with a soft thump.

_Yes, Ebrithil._

Eragon waved a hand and stated that his spell of concealment was dispelled. Saphira began to crawl through the forest, slipping easily between giant oaks.

As Kalla followed, Frelsa realised why this place was called the Wild side. There were no sounds of clashing swords or smell of parchment. The only sounds here were the cicadas' songs and the birds' love ballads.

Kalla seemed more at home here, crawling between huge tree trunks and leaping over streams and fallen logs, than she ever did back at the Corner. Suddenly she paused. Her head turned to the right.

_What is it, Kalla? We can't fall behind!_

_ Look…_

Frelsa followed Kalla's gaze. There, nearly hidden by a huge pine, a dragon. A tall, orange dragon just watching them.

_Do you think that might be Rimgrun?_ Kalla asked excitedly.

_I don't know… it might…_

The orange dragon flared his wings once and then turned and disappeared into the shadows.

_Wow… did you see how big he was! His wings… they must have been fifty metres tip to tip!_

She sighed. _Hurry up! Look how far ahead Saphira is!_

_Not far now, _Eragon said to Frelsa mentally.

They soon came to a wall of oaks, the tallest and thickest trees she had ever seen. The trunks were so wide that they must've been ten metres from side to side. They grew so close together that there was no space for the smallest creature to slip through. The ground was filled with fallen and rotting logs. There was no getting past this barrier.

Kalla hopped over a half rotten log and looked up the height of the wall, in awe of the trees' magnificent size. _How old are these trees, Master Saphira?_

_ If I'm correct, five weeks._

_ What?_

Saphira stood on her hind legs and fell forwards, supporting herself on the tree. Her claws gouged out the tree bark. She bared her teeth in a snarl and pulled backwards. The tree's flesh immediately began to splinter, the dark bark splitting open and revealing the soft, light wood beneath.

_ What are you doing!_ Kalla screamed.

_Don't trouble me, Kalla, this is hard enough as it is._

The tree seemed to be reluctant to bow to Saphira, putting up a fight as she struggled to topple it. The back roots were unearthed, an impossible net of soil laden tendrils. Saphira let go and shifted around to the front, placing the bottom of her claws on the back of the trunk and using her weight to push down on it. The tree gave way much more quickly.

As the trunk slammed into the ground the tremor that emanated from it shook Frelsa's bones in her flesh. Kalla looked at the tree in shock then at Saphira and Eragon. _How could you do that! That tree must've stood there for thousands of years!_

Saphira answered between pants as she tore down another tree, _I've told you, it has only… been five… weeks… since we came through here."_

"Eragon?" Frelsa asked expectantly.

He patted Saphira's side. "These trees are the product of a spell. An incantation put into effect ages past. Tis' a wall of wood, stretching all around the mountain. Impassable. Their branches are so thick and sharp that to try and go through them would be to court death. But to remove them, simply pull them down. A new tree will grow to the same size in five days, maybe less."

"What?" Another tree crashed down, crushing the rotten shells of other trees torn down long ago.

"Elf magic. Come, our destination is up ahead."

They slinked through the new gap between the trees, Kalla glancing at the fallen tree, and followed Saphira through the path her great body cut through the forest as she seemingly waded through the thick undergrowth.

The branches of the trees in either direction for a great distance were as Eragon described, thick and sharp. Barely any light filtered through to them, casting the forest here in a sinister light. Frelsa knew that if a dragon tried to fly through those branches their wings would be shredded. Her master had conjured a werelight and held it in one hand as a beacon for Kalla and her to follow.

Saphira simply walked in a straight line, stoic and silent, whereas Kalla chose this moment to display her nimbleness, leaping onto a fallen log, perching on a small boulder, tipping and tossing her Rider on her back.

_Walk straight, Kalla, or I'll- wo-o-o-a-h!_

That last part had been due to Kalla flying up to a low branch on a nearby tree. She snorted at Frelsa. _If you'd actually brought your saddle it wouldn't be this uncomfortable. _

_ Granted. Next time, we can go running through the woods and flying through the branches all we want, but for now, please try and go in a straight line._ Frelsa pleaded._ And on the ground._

Kalla shot her a sly grin. _Your wish is my command._

_ Wait, wha- GODS, KALLA! _

Her dragon had deemed it an appropriate time to perform an inverted spiralling corkscrew, towards the ground, upside down. She didn't even know Kalla could do that. Frelsa came this close to being a greasy smear on the path. But eventually Kalla decided not to torture her Rider any longer and follow Saphira at a leisurely pace.

Frelsa heard a crackling leaf and spun around in her seat to see a single squirrel picking a nut up off the ground. The darkness here had put her on edge. The most innocent noise became the signature of a deadly predator. There were no cicadas here, as if they knew something in this part of the forest was wrong.

She heard another rustle to her left. Frelsa turned her head and saw a pair of eyes staring back from the shadows. The eyes seemed to be unable to decide on a particular colour, settling on a certain section of the colour palette. The slit pupils followed her as she and Kalla made their way through the forest. Just before she lost sight of it she saw the eyes close. Seemingly gone, Frelsa returned her attention to keeping track of Eragon up ahead, only to see the eyes in the shadows within a bough of leaves overhead. Orange this time. They followed her and Eragon as they walked through the forest.

"Master, there are e-eyes in the shadows."

He sounded as if he were smiling. "Solembum, dear. A werecat. It's no wonder. He has a companion, who likes to be where things are happening."

"Would that companion's name be Angela?"

She saw him perk up in his saddle. "Might be."

"And is she strangely eccentric, a fortune teller, witty and the owner of a potato eating Salamander named Red?"

"Now that last one is new. She's got a salamander? Last I saw her she had an interest for frogs and had proved they were no such things as toads."

"Not really a 'wet' kind of salamander, more like an armoured red lizard which breathes fire and curls into a ball and rolls around."

She had neglected to tell Eragon the prophecy Angela had read for her in her dreams. She wasn't sure whether she had actually been spirited to Angela's shop, and if the scene had been her imagination or a vision of reality.

"Ah, I'd like to see him. I have seen few Salamanders of their ilk in my lifetime. So, how is- wait."

Saphira halted so suddenly that Kalla accidentally treaded on her tail. Saphira gave an outraged snort of fire as Kalla apologised meekly. Frelsa saw Eragon dismount Saphira and draw his sword. He gestured for her and her dragon to come forward.

Saphira moved to the side to allow space for them. The branches where they were seemed even thicker, allowing no light through at all. Eragon's werelight was the only illumination in the whole area. There, at the foot of the mountain, where the ground just began to slope up, was a portion of the ground that had seemed to cave in on itself, a giant hole, roughly circular and fifty metres in diameter in most directions. Large steps, swathed in dry leaves and big enough for Saphira to walk down stretched away deep underground. A cold draft blew out as Frelsa peered over the edge and into the hole. It was unnerving just to be near it.

At that moment, a soft howling noise, a barely audible whine, seemed to emanate from within the opening.

"Ebrithil?" She asked fearfully as she back away from the hole.

The howl, more of a demented cry now, grew steadily louder.

She back up until she bumped into Kalla. Frelsa looked to Eragon for support, but saw him gripping his sword with shaking hands so hard his knuckles turned white, taking a step back as he fixed his widened eyes on the opening. His whole body seemed to be quivering as the howl continued. Saphira was trying to stay still, eyes squeezed shut and claws digging into the dirt.

Frelsa shielded her ears and squeezed close her eyes, trying to shut out the unnerving wail, but her discomfort was nothing to her master's pain. Eragon cried out, his voice echoing for kilometres and dropped his sword onto the leafy ground next to him. Saphira roared and she seemed to dig a hole in the dirt with the crown of her head.

She really wished Drukjl and Shepherd were with her. Even if Shepherd was spouting some stupid nonsense.

When the wail stopped, Eragon was curled up in a foetal position, werelight hovering over his figure, dim. Saphira still kneaded the soil between her claws nervously.

Frelsa knelt next to Eragon. "Master?"

His eyes opened so fast she jerked back in surprise. He stared at her hollowly. "Has…it stopped?"

"Y-Yes."

Saphira stopped kneading the soil and shook her head to clear it. She craned her neck forward and allowed her Rider to use her scaled head as a support to stand up. Eragon stared at an indistinct point in the darkness within the opening, then reached for Brisingr. "We… we should go."

When he spoke, it seemed like he had lost all conviction to go on. Frelsa saw her master slipping and spoke to him, "Frudhe wiol Thorna Iknol caan frudhe neo, un Thorna Iknol wilean neo."

He glanced at her.

"Remember, Ebrithil! Don't let go!"

He stared at her eyes, then a light that was gone returned. "Eragon, not Ebrithil."

His werelight flared to its full power. Eragon reached down with a hand, one that Frelsa noticed shook slightly, and picked up Brisingr. "So? Are we going?"

Frelsa gave a sigh of relief as she saw Eragon and Saphira disappear into the hole. If he lost his mind she knew she couldn't leave this place.

_Come on, Frelsa. We must go into the breach._

As she mustered the courage to take the first step, nearly slipping on the stones still wet from last night's downpour, she wondered how Shepherd and Drukjl were.

* * *

When Shepherd woke again, he was in his bed. He hurriedly sat up and immediately wished he hadn't. His head pounded as if he'd drunk like a dwarf the past night. Judging by the light filtering down through the skylight it must be morning. He fell back onto his mattress. "Hell of a night, huh, Frelsa?"

There was no response. Shepherd glanced around the room. The shower rooms were open. The two beds at the far corners were empty, as usual, but Kalla's was as well. He tried to ignore the little monkey beating his brain like a drum and sat on the side of his bed.

"Errol? You there?" He called up at the skylight. Silence. _Seems not_, he thought.

Shepherd got to his feet unsteadily, and after wobbling a bit decided to use the wall as a support. He realised he was in a new tunic. He didn't want to know who had changed his clothes.

He found his sword on the ground some distance away and picked up the grey sword, Shorren, a perfectly straight sword, unnaturally long for a sword of its ilk, and attached it to his belt. But when you forged with brightsteel you could add certain features that would be devastating for a regular sword. Shorren was made to slash and hack, similar to an elven sword, but also made to stab through even the thickest armour easily.

He staggered to under the skylight to double check that Errol wasn't there. A mental probe brushed against his mind and he immediately retreated within his consciousness and erected walls of protection around his mind in anticipation.

The probe seemed perplexed that he had created his defences, tapping curiously on the walls. He heard it say something tinny to him. Shepherd cautiously lowered a section of his defences.

_ -ome down here, Shepherd!_

He recognised the voice as Drukjl's. _What?_

Drukjl snorted in annoyance. _About time you woke. I am here at your Human Corner's healer. Come down here, the blasted human won't let me in!_

_ Why did you want to go visit the healer? _Shepherd asked, bewildered. Urgals almost never entered Men's Corner, Drukjl included.

_To visit, Frelsa! She's being healed right now, and this human won't let me see her!_

_ Frelsa's being healed? Still?_ They must've crashed hours ago.

_The healer says she and Kalla have suffered greatly, and even with their greatest spells they cannot release her for a number of days. Let go of me, healer!_

Shepherd was already on his way out the door. _On my way, Ram. Oh, and do you have an idea where Errol is? _

_ OVER HERE! _

Shepherd looked up as he left his quarters. Up there, far above, was the underside of a grey dragon. With two, beautiful wings.

A smile spread across his face. He laughed. Shepherd raised both his arms and whooped as he saw Errol swoop down. Some of those around him shot looks and stares at him, but he didn't care. He heard a scholar, dressed in a ridiculous purple robe and headpiece, muttured, "Unacceptable. The standard of Riders these days." His companion, dressed in equally ridiculous robes, nodded along with him.

Shepherd was still whooping when Errol swooped down like an eagle, nothing but a steel blur, and grabbed his Rider with his claws and taking flight in a split-second. Some part of him said that this wasn't very safe. Screw it, the rest of him replied.

He screamed in glorious exaltation as he looked up at Errol, carrying him as he flew at breakneck speed. He swerved left and right, around and under other dragons and their Riders who yelled at them. Shepherd felt the wind blowing his short hair about, making his tunic ripple as they flew.

He opened his mind to Errol and was overwhelmed by the joy that flooded through.

_Your wing!_

_ Better than ever!_ Errol shouted mentally back. He glanced down as he flew and Shepherd saw him trying as hard he could to replicate a human smile with a face designed not to.

Errol roared as he swooped straight down to the road, pulling up less than a metre from the ground, buffeting a nearby Rider, Shahnz the Creep, causing him to fall backwards onto his beige dragon nearby. Dayine didn't budge as Shahnz cursed at them and their children.

Shepherd and his dragon flew through the sky, executing perfect manoevours, Errol enjoying the fact that he was whole yet again. The short span of time he spent awake and without a wing had been so alien, so strange, he had felt stunted, handicapped. Like it wasn't just a wing that had been ripped off, a very part of his soul. Ah, but what does it matter. He had his wing now, he had Shepherd in his claws. Life was good. For now.

_Yes, your wing has been returned to you, and I am glad for it, but you must make haste_, Dýrgrir's voice rang out in their minds._ Durkjl is not pleased with this healer._

Shepherd and Errol agreed. The dragon spread his wings and pulled into a steep dive towards the far side of Men's corner, where the healers' building was. Shepherd realised how dangerous it was to fly like that while Errol held him in his claws. He didn't care.

* * *

Within the tunnel, walking through the dank, dark passages was even worse than she imagined it would be. The tunnels themselves seemed to have been made with the size of dragons in mind, almost a hundred metres in width and half in height. It was so large that the ghostly pale light from Eragon's werelight, who himself walked in the middle of the tunnel, didn't even touch the far walls. Their footsteps echoed up and down the length of the tunnel, making it seem that there were a hundred Frelsas, Kallas, Eragons and Saphiras in the tunnel.

The tunnels had acute angles and were perfectly symmetrical and every inch was covered with grime or moss. There were countless junctions and crossroads they passed, side passages that stretched into darkness. Frelsa passed one passageway and thought she saw something down its length, a long bearded man with a yellowed scroll inspecting the wall. She backtracked hurriedly. Nothing but darkness. At one point, she saw out of the corner of her eye, an elf. He walked besides her, white cape billowing behind him. Tall and with handsome but weathered features, long white hair and sad eyes. His armour was beautiful and ornate, made of gilded ivory and joined with veins of silver. The elf held one arm up in the air and rested it on something invisible, like how one would while walking alongside their dragon. A white, sheathed sword hung from a fine leather belt. The elf didn't seem to notice that Frelsa was looking at him.

"Eragon… there is someone else…"

Her master didn't even turn around. "Don't touch him. His name is Vrael."

"Vrael? He's dead!"

"Indeed. The Last Leader before The Fall."

Frelsa noticed that his hand was resting on a huge white dragon, bigger than Saphira, but it seemed unsubstantial. Like the image of the dragon was seen from a distance underwater, constantly wavering. She asked Kalla, _What was the name of Vrael's dragon? _

_Umaroth._

She then asked Eragon, "Master, I see Umaroth walking along his Rider, but he is faded."

Eragon's response was nearly silent and sounded as if he could not find the right words. "He has not… passed completely. Not yet…"

She did not ask him about it again. Vrael's wraith followed every turn Eragon made. Every path Eragon knew, Vrael's wraith knew. At first Frelsa suspected he was following them. But soon, she realised that he didn't even notice them. At one point, his armoured arm passed straight through Kalla's side, who jumped back exclaiming, _Cold!_

Frelsa walked closer to Kalla as another image materialised. A regal looking woman, armoured in flowing plates of armour. She also rested his hand like Vrael, but her hand rested on the substantial form of a large, copper coloured dragon clad in overlapping plates of tempered steel, just as or bigger than the image of Umaroth. The copper coloured dragon's tail swung from side to side and its tip grazed Frelsa's shoulder. She jerked away and realised what Kalla had meant by cold.

"Ebrithil…"

"Eragon, not Ebrithil. And fear not these wraiths. They are shadows of the past. They can't hurt you, they are here to turn back the meek."

She didn't say so but she was feeling pretty meek right now.

Down another passage, Frelsa saw an elf standing next to a pile of bricks before an empty space, before casting a spell and causing the bricks to fly into space, forming a wall. She blinked, and the elf was gone. The wall was like any other.

"Eragon, I realised you have not told me of your plight yet." Frelsa needed something to get her mind off the dead Riders and the beings here replaying the roles they had in life.

"I did say I would. Well, walk closer to me and Saphira. It would not do to lose you down here."

"Seventy years ago, King Galbatorix was in a mad search for one thing. A secret. When I confronted him, I realised that he had searched for, and found, the true name of the Ancient Language. Do not ask me for the name, I shall not tell you. But in the treasures we uncovered from the ruins of his collapsed castle after his demise, I found hundreds of tomes and crumbling scrolls in his quarters. I inspected each personally and found they were all from the old library on Vroengard. He had written unintelligible scribbles all over every page and made hurried side notes. I at first suspected that these books were the ones he had used in his effort to find the true name of the Ancient Language, but upon further inspection I found that he had studied the books the very day he had perished. He had found the name by then, so why study further?"

They took a left down a five way crossroads.

"I took his tomes and scrolls and inspected each and every page. In his scribbles I found reference to a curse, of sorts, a responsibility bestowed upon a Rider against their choice."

"What is this curse?" Frelsa asked.

"Do not interrupt, but you shall understand it in time. Galbatorix was a powerful Rider, but even at the peak of his reign he feared one thing."

"What is that?"

"No interruptions. I found in his journals dating to before the Fall that Vrael had grown weak and fallen from grace. I then researched into Vrael's life before the Fall and found he had been disowned by his parents renounced by his loved ones and friends. Now in the journal of Galbatorix's, I found that in his search for the Name, he had invariably discovered a secret. A secret revealed only to the Leader of the Riders at any time."

Eragon paused. "I am about to share information that could break the will of many if carelessly told. You must swear never to reveal what I tell you to others unless Saphira and I can no longer contain it."

She and Kalla swore as such.

"Now as time wore on, Galbatorix became more desperate in his search to learn of the secret. I found in many ancient tomes of his references to a great danger that would come to pass. I was intrigued, and found a scroll that connected this danger to the Riders. More specifically, the Leaders of the Riders. I was panning through a tome and found and found an interesting chapter on the Leader before Vrael, the War maiden Simal."

Frelsa glanced at the woman with the copper dragon.

"Her mother it appears died in childbirth, and her father was said to lavish his love upon his child. But when she ascended to her post as Leader he disowned her, much lilke Vrael's parents. I also found that she had a sister and a lover, both of whom renounced ties with her like her father. I found this strange, so I researched into the life of many previous Leaders of the Riders and was amazed to see that they had lost all connections with friends and relatives from their past upon ascending to their post. Not one of them had children or married. There were also reports of their power steadily weakening as they held their position which, along with death, seemed to be the prevailing reason that they eventually stepped down."

"Now Galbatorix found this intriguing too. He was a tyrant, but also learned. He knew that it could not have been coincidence that the Leaders had lost all close to them. And during his reign, many horrible plights struck the land. An earthquake, Ra'zac plagued the peoples and the Urgal clans ran rampant with an uncharacteristic rage. None of these were caused by Galbatorix himself, but even by his dethroning the king. I found that it was caused by his slaying of Vrael."

"How?"

"Ah, I asked the same question. After Galbatorix had scattered the Riders, the rest of the world continued as well they could. When he formed the Empire, they still continued as well they could. But the moment Galbatorix sought out Vrael and slew him, it all fell to turmoil. An earthquake struck just a year after, destroying several of the Beor Mountains. The Ra'zac ran wild in the streets until the King culled them and subverted the last two and their steeds and parents to his will. The Urgals burned villages and killed as never before, their reasons unknown. Galbatorix used his powers to halt their warpath and keep them under his thrall. He was a tyrant, yes. But through his actions he had saved many, even if it were to let them continue serving him. He searched for a reason why these horrors had plagued his kingdom. I discovered that in all surviving texts from periods when the Riders were without Leaders for long periods of time disasters sprung about all over Alagaësia, wars raged, droughts and famine. None of these could have all sprung about by one Rider's death."

Eragon exhaled, as if preparing himself to behold some great secret to her. "There were abscure texts in strange languages I had recovered in my journeys, through no little effort, and many referenced to some great danger chained and kept imprisoned under the dirt. So great was he that even the Dragon's might would pallor in his presence, and so spiteful was he that if let loose upon this world he would burn all civilisation to ashes. Age old bonds placed upon his cage were enough to hold him back, barely. But his power constantly assailed his prison, so much so that without a continuous supply of magic reinforcements they would crumble. That is the reason why it was said that the Rider's Leaders steadily deteriorated as they continued in this position, for this power came from-"

"Them…" Frelsa looked at Eragon with renewed awe. He had allowed an ancient spell to siphon off his powers every day and every night to hold back a threat which could mean death for all if released. "And this is this Danger's prison? Under the mountain?"

"Yes. I made this island the new Vroengard, as I could have easy access to the Danger to repair his prison and mentor my students."

All this time she had lived without knowledge that a stone's throw away from where she slept was a beast of some sort that could devastate their all Alagaësia.

"But why did-" she had nearly said 'you'. "-they lose all their loved ones."

Eragon stopped. He turned back to look at her and she saw endless sorrow and emptiness in his eyes. "Such is the manner of the curse. The Danger will find holes in his prison through which his magic can go forth and alter the lives and minds of those he chooses. His reach is far, but he cannot harm those that give their lives to keep him chained. But he takes great pleasure in turning those around them against them."

He subconsciously rubbed a scar on his lower arm. He could have healed it long ago, so why didn't he? He and Saphira continued walking. "You see why I did not wish to share this secret with Arya?"

"But… what will happen to me?" She wasn't sure she would want to live the rest of her life alone, with only Kalla as her confidant.

"You… I have no knowledge what plights the Danger will thrust upon you, if you survive the journey."

He resumed his account. "I chanced upon this island as Saphira, I and several elves sailed the seas to find a new home for the dragons and Riders. It seemed the perfect home, isolated from Alagaësia by the Northern length of the Spine that ringed the edges of Du Weldenvarden. I had not learnt of its deadly past until after the first eggs had hatched. Now this Danger, he uses those same holes in his prison to perform his deeds throughout Alagaësia. Implanting the idea to make a shade into the minds of a group of sorcerers. Bestowing upon a dragon the need to steal a few sheep from those farmers. It is my duty to take the Pilgrimage to his prison every month and endeavor to repair his bonds. It is... difficult, in my weakened state."

"Ebrithil, if you do this every month, then how have we not noticed your absence? Do you depart under cover of night?"

"No, I merely conjure a phantom of me and Saphira. I can control it from a distance and instruct it to teach you and your class as I normally would"

"As this Danger tries to break free, every second he comes closer to shattering his chains as I grow ever weaker and his power wanes. This Danger has come within an inch of freeing himself, and that inch will be halved by the time we reach him as he senses my presence. The chains binding him have grown more taxing to sustain. Occasionally, they take in a large portion of my energy in a short period of time. It is not very, comfortable."

Frelsa remembered the fits Eragon and Saphira had suffered from that one moment in the caves and at the entrance to the tunnels.

"It appears that there are a few who can sense when the bonding spells do this, such as Fírnen who felt an anomaly on this island all the way from Ellesmera."

They took a side passage on the left wall.

"The fits are _very_ unpleasant. My last master, Oromis, a Rider who had suffered through the Fall and survived along with his dragon, Glaedr, thought he could put an end to the blights on the land during Galbatorix's reign. He had learnt through great tedium of the curse, and thought himself strong enough to be its new donor of energy and journeyed to this island. It did not proceed well. Oromis had been cursed by one of the Forsworn during the Fall, and the curse had stunted his magical prowess to that of a complete novice. The curse under this mountain, coupled with the one the Forsworn had cast upon him, reacted violently. The bonds deemed him unsuitable as their donor of magic, and he would be plagued by fits akin to mine till the day he died."

"Might I ask something, Ebrithil?"

"Ask away."

"Could you not leave the chains without energy for a while? They lasted throughout the entire period of Galbatorix's reign without breaking."

"That they did, but they were much stronger then. They lasted so long only through the powers previous Leaders had invested in them. Galbatorix had never found the secret he searched for, but would not have willingly offered himself to the curse anyway. When I found the cage, the bonds were at their breaking point. I was honour bond to offer myself up to keep the chains linked in the hopes of holding back the Danger."

As he ended his story, Frelsa felt the same way she had when she first saw him with the magnificent blue behemoth by his side. Awestruck, speechless, in total wonder.

_What do you think lies under the mountain? _She asked Kalla.

_I'd say a powerful being of some sort._

_ You know that's impossible right? How could something survive so long underground without light, food or water and still be strong enough to use his powers on those far away? It must be a magical anomaly of some sort, self-sustaining blob of pure energy._

_ Improbable, not impossible. Dragons can stay within our eggs for decades, and we can hibernate for years without food. It is not out of the question that one could induce such a state through magic. And to do such work requires the reasoning that comes with sentience. No magic blob lies chained there._

Frelsa thought about it. Kalla's words _were_ true, and it frustrated her whenever she lost an argument. At least it wasn't against Shepherd.

She looked around and realised that there were many more phantoms following them, almost as if they had been drawn to Eragon's story, all strong Riders with grim faces, resting one hand on their dragon. Most of their dragon's seemed as real as Kalla, except one or two that shimmered like Umaroth. Some wore armour with signs that marked them as the make of one particular area of the mainland, a Dwarven rune, an Elven symbol, but many of them wore armour Frelsa had only seen in musuems of their ancient history. There must have been a hundred of them, up and down the tunnel, walking in the same direction. Each bore the same defeated look she had seen on Eragon's face the night before.

Eragon didn't look directly at them, but she heard his mutters carry over to her, "Vrael, Daleth, Simal, Drunherd, Jilith…"

She realised that she had read all those names before, in an old tome so full of dust she had choked on the cloud when she opened it. They were all names of legendary heroes, or more accurately, all had served as Leader to the Rider Corp in their time.

"…Philipe, Harlend, Qwynyl, Sílrith…"

Eragon continued reading off the names of the Riders' phantoms around them. Definitely all leaders of the Riders. Had they all walked this path once?

The phantoms were ghostly, many were crammed into the light provided by that werelight of Eragon's, as if hungry for it. Frelsa saw the indistinct shapes of more wraiths moving in the shadows.

_ Frelsa…_ Kalla's voice was in awe.

_Don't worry, Kalla, stay close to me._

_ No, look!_ The green dragon jerked its head to the left.

She looked and saw another Rider. His hair was shorter than most elves and golden as sunlight. He rested his hand on his dragon, as white as Umaroth, but purer somehow. The elf's armour resembled the oldest Elven cuirass she'd ever seen, in the museum at the edge of Men's Corner. But the armour was different still, alien. The sword by his side was no Rider's sword, a simple steel sword of Elf design. His features gave off a feel of gentle power and humbleness. The white dragon he lay his hand on was by far the largest there, twice as large as Saphira, with brilliant scales that nearly blinded her and whose body was evidently extremely strong. The Elf and dragon radiated strength and greatness of ages past.

_Who is it?_ Frelsa asked in awe.

_I don't know, but he was powerful in life. His very shadow in here could subvert any one of us._

"Ebrithil, who is that?"

Both Eragon and Saphira looked back. She anwered, _His name is Eragon._

"What? But how?"

Eragon spoke, "Eragon the First."

"The one who…"

"Who founded the Riders and made peace between Elves and dragons."

She looked back at Eragon the First with renewed wonder. He walked alongside them for maybe ten metres more, before he moved out to the edge of the sea of phantoms and was replaced by another.

"Master Eragon, when I asked why you allowed me to follow you so easily, you answered..."

"I was due to make my Pilgrimage to repair the tears ripped in the bonds."

"I understand, but you also said that-"

"Yes, resistance against this Danger is useless. I have made this journey countless times. I know. I have seen."

"But Ebrithil, surely with another Rider and her dragon at your side, you could-"

Eragon stopped. The path before them fell into an even deeper darkness, a black wall of death. Even though he stood on the edge of it his werelight could not illuminate one inch of the dark before them.

"We have finished the first leg of our Pilgrimage. Prepare yourself for the next."

* * *

28-11-13

These typos are really getting on my nerves. I have to look through the whole 9,000 word chapter that I'd already read through in Word and find these mysterious typos that pop up. If any of you know how to deal with this annoyance, please do tell. Anyways, chapter 4 is complete. I wrote up a 9,000 chapter this time in response to a private message from one of you. Hopefully, it doesn't sound too awkward when you read through it. I also didn't know whether to write from one of my OC's or Arya's pov, so why not both? Leave a review on how you think this chapter is, and if I am open to criticism. You can never get good unless you're told how bad you are. Also, if you have any suggestions on the directions this story could go from here you can add that in a review.

P.S. Chapter 5 probably won't be released on schedule, tomorrow that is, due to some complications. But it will be released, latest by the day after next.

29-11-13

I just updated the story and finally reached 10,000+ words. I added reasons to why he had allowed Frelsa and Kalla to tag along, I hope that this is the last edit I'll have to make. Won't be free to write chapter five for some time.


	5. Shadows and Bones

Drukjl was sitting out on the curb with Dýrgrir by his side. He did not look pleased. Human Riders and scholars alike shot them strange looks as they passed the pair. When Shepherd and Errol landed, rather uncomfortable for the Rider, Drukjl got up and advanced towards them.

"They say Frelsa is in there, but will not let any see her."

"You sure, Ram? Maybe it's just your looks."

Drukjl snorted. "They do not let anyone in. They say she is 'stable', but still have kept the doors closed."

Shepherd looked at the doors to the healers'. "Come on, Ram. Let's go see our Girl."

They and their dragons easily fit through the door. This building was one of the smaller ones but gigantic nonetheless. Dragons could fly around easily in large circles on the inside. Drukjl pointed to a pair of huge wooden double doors at the far side of the building, where they said Frelsa was being kept. There were few people there in the waiting room, save a brown-haired woman in the corner. Apparently there was quite a crowd earlier that morning. Everyone was concerned for Frelsa and Kalla. No wonder, any wounds that would warrant several hours of intensive healing was most definitely fatal.

Shahnz the Creep was already there, Dayine standing vigilant nearby. Shahnz seemed to be conversing with a healer, a man with a black goatee dressed in their customary long green robes. The handsome Rider was holding a bouquet of flowers and passed it to the healer, who brought them through the doors. Shahnz mounted Dayine, who proceeded to make for the exit.

As they passed Shahnz, Shepherd remarked, "O-o-oh, flowers huh?"

He flashed him one of his blinding smiles. "Of course, I care about the girls so much. Can't let them think I don't worry about them in their time of need."

Drukjl struggled to hold in his laughter. Errol snarled at Shahnz while Dýrgrir made one of those peculiar dragon laughs.

They reached the double doors, and a healer came out. Not the young goatee man, an old fellow with a wrinkled face and flowing white beard. "Yes, what do you want?"

"We'd like to see Frelsa and Kalla please," Shepherd replied as politely as possible.

The man narrowed his eyes at Drukjl. "You, I thought I told you to stay out!"

Drukjl did not show any annoyance. "I only wanted to see my friend."

"Only wanted?" The man spluttered. "I suppose when you threw my fellow Healer across the room you still only wanted to see you friend?"

"He tried to injure me."

The old healer turned to Shepherd. "Even if visitors _were_ allowed, I would not let an Urgal through these doors."

"How about just me and Errol?" He asked, gesturing to his dragon. He didn't bother using the racial harmony argument. Many humans still did not take well to it.

The healer shook his head. "You cannot see her. She is in a delicate part of the healing procedure."

Drukjl lost his patience. "That's what you said this morning!"

"And she still is!" The healer finished. "Now leave! We cannot accept visitors at this crucial point."

With that the man slammed the doors shut and Shepherd heard him muttering a locking enchantment. He growled in exasperation and retired to one of the padded chairs in the waiting room. Errol stayed at the doors, pacing before them.

"What are we going to do, Ram?"

Drukjl walked over and sat on a chair next to Shepherd as Dýrgrir lay down next to him. "We've no choice but to wait. I would not relish bringing violence to this place of healing."

Errol still paced before the doors. _Can we use our thoughts? Find Frelsa's and Kalla's consciousnesses in there?_

Dýrgrir shook his head sadly. _There are enchantments abound here. It is impossible to project your thoughts past anything in this waiting room._

Shepherd tried anyway. It didn't work. Errol rose on his hind legs and fell forward against the doors, slamming his body on the wooden panes.

_Errol! What are you doing!_

He slammed against the doors again. They did not move at all. _This healer's enchantment draws on his strength. If we put enough stress on the door, he will have to end the spell._

_Or you could be killing him right now,_ Shepherd reminded. That old man did not seem too resilient.

_It's a gamble I'm willing to take. You with me Shepherd?_

He hesitated. Drukjl walked up to him. "We should follow the old human's words. Just wait until they release Frelsa."

Shepherd didn't stop Errol. Not because he wanted to follow his plan but more because he did not like the old healer. Should they just leave? Wait until Frelsa and Kalla recovered? He realised this was a bit suspicious.

"Come on, Ram. What time is it now? Four hours past noon? She's been in there for twelve hours now. What kind of injuries warrant that long a healing?"

_Well, we were doing something stupid, _Dýrgrir pointed out.

"Yes, but Errol's wing got torn off! Ebrithil grafted it back on in seconds!"

Shepherd could feel discomfort radiating from Errol and saw an approximation of a grimace on his toothy snout, making the Rider feel guilty for bringing up the subject.

"Remember what he said on replicating flesh? 'Even if you must replicate their entire body, it would only take four hours at most for an experienced healer'. Experienced. And how many of them do you think there are in there? What do you think they're doing to her?"

Drukjl scratched his chin. "It is suspicious, but we cannot just go charging in there, horns bared."

_Why…not…_ Errol answered between slams. Shepherd wondered how the old man on the other side of the door was holding up. Would he stop feeding the spell energy?

The doors budged just a tiny bit, before shutting close again.

There were no dragons in there, but the healers were all as powerful magicians as humans could be.

The doors budged open a bit more and Errol held it there, sticking his snout through the gap and roared mentally and physically, _Kalla!_

_Errol, calm down! Get over here!_

_No! I… need to know… what happened to them!_

Drukjl raised an eyebrow at Shepherd, who shrugged in response. Dýrgrir seemed to be laughing. The Urgal stood up. "We should not bring disruption to this place. We must respect their laws."

"To hell with laws, Ram. Frelsa and Kalla are on the other side of those doors. What do you think is happening to them? Why would they be kept in there for twelve hours?"

"I don't know, but what would Dur Firesword and Dur Firetongue say?"

"They'd say we'd done the right thing, we were concerned for our friends."

Shepherd had also risen to his feet and stared up at Drukjl, still impassive. Dýrgrir, who had been up till then silent, remarked, _By right we cannot get punished, it is the privilege of friends and family to visit the injured after the five hour mark._

"Where'd you learn that?" Shepherd asked as he looked at Dýrgrir in amazement.

_Some of us pay attention during classes._

Errol grunted. The doors barely opened any bigger than an inch after he slammed into them and kept closing just as fast.

"We should not do this, Shepherd. Call off your firebreather."

He looked back at Drukjl. "You heard your own dragon, they cannot punish us. We have every right to go through those doors and visit her, and see what kind of demonic tests they are conducting on her."

"But in the healer's building? Even if I wanted too, I could not. I would not wish to bring some deadly retribution upon my peoples within Urgralgra Otrag. No Urgal will join you."

Shepherd's spirits fell.

"But a certain dragon might," Drukjl added before leaving the building.

Shepherd glanced at Dýrgrir, who bared his teeth, exposing the nearly tusk like canines. _Let us proceed._

_Finally!_ Errol exclaimed as they came to join him.

Another Rider, one Shepherd recognised as a senior member of the Corp, and a yellow dragon came through the doors, and saw them trying to breach the doors. "Hey! What are you doing?"

Dýrgrir growled at him. _Errol, you and your Rider should back up._

Shepherd hurriedly ran to one side as Dýrgrir leaped back, taking a running start at the doors, head bent low and roaring as the crown of his head collided with the double doors. The wooden panes were forced open and the dragon held the doors open with his stout body.

_Go!_

Errol hopped onto Dýrgrir's back and leaped through the gap in the doors, barely large enough for him to squeeze through. Shepherd found a foothold in the bend of Dýrgrir's brown leg and jumped onto his back, careful not to get impaled on one of the ivory spikes. He glanced behind and saw the Rider and yellow dragon nearly on top of them.

Dýrgrir growled and the doors slid slightly forward, closing the gap by an inch or two. _Faster, human! _He hopped onto Dýrgrir's knobbly head and jumped forward through the gap as the doors shut. On a bench against the wall just after the door lay the old man, unconscious. Shepherd had been amazed he had maintained his spell against two dragons and a Rider and had only fallen unconscious. Healers were made of stern stuff.

They had emerged into a huge room, walls, floors and ceiling all made of polished brown wood, Shepherd knew that they had been enchanted to be protected from dragon fire and impervious to their claws. The room was as long as the whole building, fifty metres in length and twenty in width, made to accommodate the wounded form of the largest dragon. A counted ran the length of one wall, filled with thousands of healing herbs and plants, pickled specimens and strange vegetables. A table had been set up at one side of the room, where Frelsa should have been. Shahnz's flower bouquet lay on the table. The other side where Kalla should have lain, there was only empty space.

Four green cloaked healers relaxed in the room, two of them playing with a deck of cards as they stretched out on the wood floor. Errol completely ignored them, bounding forward into the side of the room where the injured dragon would have been lain out. He roared at the healers both mentally and physically, _Where is she? Where did you put Kalla?_

The doors behind them slammed open. The senior Rider came through on his yellow dragon's back. He pointed at them. "Get out of here!"

Shepherd looked at the healers' room before him. This was the largest room in the whole building, why had they used it to house nothing and say that there were two patients, grievously wounded, within.

The healers leaped to their feet, kicking aside their cards. They all raised their arms in ghostly unison, chanting under their breath as if they had been trained to do this. Their green robes did not seem that ridiculous now.

Shepherd drew Shorren and backed up until he reached Errol as the chanting of the healers grew louder. Each seemed to chant a different spell, but all to the same melancholic tune. Errol crouched low, and glanced towards the door, blocked by the huge figure of the senior Rider atop his dragon.

"We shouldn't have come here," he whispered to Errol, who growled back in response, _They cannot punish us. _

The grey dragon slashed in the direction of one of the healers. _Where is Kalla!_ But neither of them dared to advance any further. There was an air of danger to the green robed men.

The healer's chanting rose to a maddened chorus, and their voices overlapped each other in a deafening melody. The senior Rider seemed perfectly fine. The spell must be directed only at him and Errol.

They cannot punish us, he reassured himself.

The Rider opened his mouth and shouted something at them, but it was inaudible over the chanting.

They cannot punish us, he repeated to himself.

He spied out of the corner of his eye the double doors opened a crack. A large brown eye peered through. The healers were shouting now, and at the apex of their melody bellowed a single word at Shepherd and Errol.

"EITHA!"

He was forced backwards onto Errol, Shorren falling from his grip and clattering to the ground. He hung onto one of Errol's spikes, but it seemed greased.

They cannot punish us.

The spike easily slipped from his grasp. As he fell against the ground, the need to sleep overcame him. He saw Errol lunge at one of the healers before tumbling to the ground.

They cannot punish us, he thought to himself as he entered the dark.

* * *

The darkness was not like what she expected. It seemed too thick, almost oily. It exerted a pressure on her, making it hard to breathe in the greasy shadows. She felt the solid ground beneath her feet, the rough rope in her hand, Kalla's scales. They reminded her where she was, that she could survive the dark.

She felt a slight pull on the rope connecting her to Eragon, reassuring her that he would lead her to safety. She checked the rope connecting her to Kalla, and realised that it was slack. She called, "Kalla?"

The noise seemed so soft. Frelsa reminded herself she was still in the tunnel. _Then why didn't your voice echo? _She cursed the part of her brain that kept on doing this kind of stuff. But what if she wasn't in the tunnels? What if she had died and this was her punishment for eternity? She tried to put this out of her mind. "Kalla!"

Where was she? She pulled on the rope and felt something solid on the end. But she had to be sure. A scaly snout pushed itself under her arm. _I'm here._

Her heart stopped racing. She held onto Kalla with one hand and held onto the rope joining her to Eragon with the other to guide her path. There was a chittering noise, like some strange beast. _I'm safe, _she told herself. She just had to follow her Masters.

There was a strong pull on the rope, then it slackened considerably.

She felt how much slack was on the rope. Was she that close to Eragon?

Frelsa walked into a wall. She held one hand to her aching forehead and murmured a healing spell, but nothing happened. Were the shadows muting her magic? Then another more pressing question reached her mind. Where was Eragon?

She pulled on the rope. Nothing. Another pull. There was no resistance at all. _No._

More chittering, followed by the sound of hard, pointed legs on stone. Frelsa remembered a story that had plagued her for weeks after she heard it, about the Ra'zac and their children, how they had killed the innocent for fun and gnawed on their bones. She did not care now. She couldn't get any more scared.

Frelsa began to pull in the rope. Metre after metre. Maybe he'd loosened the rope.

Then she knew her answer. Why she hadn't felt any slack. Why it had led her into a wall. She touched the end of the rope in her numb hands and felt the innumerable strands at the end. The cut end, of a frayed rope.

_What happened? Has Eragon stopped? _Kalla asked urgently.

_No…_

_What happened?_

_The rope… someone… something cut it._

_ WHAT!_

_ Eragon's gone._

Frelsa hugged Kalla's neck and buried her face in her scales as she cried. How could this happen? What cut the rope? Did Eragon and Saphira know they were gone? She realised it didn't matter. They were going to die here, slowly, starving to death. Or maybe of dehydration, or maybe whatever beasts she had heard in the dark would find her. But she was sure the darkness would crush her before any of them.

Kalla refused to believe it until she felt the frayed end of the cut rope. She ran around in the shadow, pulling Fresla along, roaring into the dark and screaming mentally for Eragon and Saphira. But only the silence answered.

_When did it get cut? _Kalla demanded.

_I don't know, I didn't even notice until I ran into the wall._

Kalla roared into the dark, as if cursing the shadows.

Something brushed against her leg. She screamed.

_Frelsa? What? What is it?_

_ Something touched me! _She screamed mentally at her. She imagined Kalla wincing as the noise sounded through her mind but she didn't care. Not anymore. There was a sound like scuttling insect legs in a corner somewhere.

Frelsa heard Kalla snarl. _Don't worry, I'll kill it. YOU CUT THE ROPE DIDN'T YOU? DIDN'T YOU?_

At first Frelsa thought Kalla was accusing her, but realised that the last part was directed out mentally to whatever creature was unlucky enough to be in a fifty metre radius. There was the scuttling noise again, it sounded for a second. Like the beast in the shadows was angry. Were the Ra'zac hunting them?

A hiss echoed in their minds.

_Would you mind not blowing out my mind?_

Both of them fell silent. Even Kalla had not expected a response.

_And no, I did not cut your stupid rope. There are other, more sinister creatures than me in this dark, and if you want to live, I suggest you follow my instructions. _

Frelsa spun around wildly, looking for whatever creature spoke to them. It was useless of course, everything was invisible in the dark. She couldn't even see her body when she looked down.

_That voice… _Kalla spoke, seeming to try and remember something.

_Who are you?_ Frelsa asked.

_I am one of many names, human, but my real name is secret to all. You can call me Solembum. _

_ Werecat!_ Kalla exclaimed. She obviously knew Solembum.

_I'd prefer if you called me by name, otherwise I might leave you here in the dark._

_ No, no, no, Solembum. I apologise. Where are you anyway?_

_ In front of you._

Frelsa stared at the ground ahead of her and saw something amazing, two bright eyes in the dark, greenish this time. The slit pupils stared straight at her, which should have been impossible to see in the shadows.

C_an you get us out, Solembum?_ Frelsa asked, trying to be the epitome of respect.

_Why else did you think I found you?_

She saw the eyes move over to where the frayed end of rope should be in the dark. The eyes lowered and when they raised up again there was pressure on her rope.

_I will endeavour to lead you to the exit, don't yank too hard on the rope. It's hard enough holding it with my teeth._

And with that he started walking away, pulling Frelsa and Kalla along. She whispered to her dragon, _Stay close._

She didn't hear anything in the shadows, so she wasn't sure whether she should be glad that the creatures Solembum mentioned might be gone or fearful that they could stalk her without her hearing.

Frelsa felt the rope pulling her towards the left and dutifully followed. Then they heard it, a scream, a woman's wail. She hugged Frelsa's neck and tried to block out the sound. _Your ears will betray you. _It wasn't real. It wasn't real.

The baby's bawling that reached their ears a second later seemed real. It was so full of pain, of loss. She wondered whether there might be humans stumbling around in the dark like them, waiting to die by the claws of the beasts in the dark or by the long march of hunger and thirst.

The werecat led them for an impossibly long time, and as she was going to ask if he was sure he knew the way, she felt slack on the rope. She hurriedly pulled it in and felt the frayed end yet again. She screamed mentally, _Solembum!_

Another mental hiss. _Not so loud, human! The path grows difficult to traverse here, and leading you by rope would not do._

His eyes opened again before them, more of a neon shade this time.

_Just walk towards my eyes. That's right, towards my eyes. _

Her foot fell into a deep crevice and she hurriedly withdrew it. She heard something scuttle somewhere.

_Don't mind that, just a bug. Walk towards my eyes, keep walking._

There was more scuttling this time, but also another strange noise, like beaks or claws snapping.

_Just a bug, yes. Don't stray, dragon. Follow my eyes._

Then they stepped into the radiance of a werelight, like they had passed through a curtain of blindness and now could see. As they left the shadows, where Solembum's body should have been in the light was empty space. His presence seemed to evaporate the moment they entered the light.

She heard Solembum again. _Don't tell Eragon…_

Frelsa looked at the ground under her feet, illuminated with light. She looked down at her body, dressed in a drab brown tunic illuminated with light. She touched Kalla who stood by her side, illuminated with light. Her eyes burned from the transition of darkness to light but she didn't care. To her that burn made her feel alive for that moment, not just surviving in the dark.

_How irrational do you think my fear of the dark is _now_, Kalla?_ She asked.

Kalla was too busy licking the ground in her joy to answer.

Eragon was there, back to her, staring in silence at the piece of frayed rope in his hands while Saphira stood to one side with her head hung, the rumblings of her breathing seemed almost mournful. The werelight hovered over Eragon's head.

"Ebrithil!" Frelsa called in happiness.

He looked up at her and his eyebrows shot up. He dropped the frayed piece of rope and pulled off his rope belt and gripped her shoulders as if to check that she was not a wraith like Vrael. He looked at her with wonder. "How? When I left the shadow, I saw the rope and thought…"

She looked to Kalla for help.

_We were tethered to you up until what should be the last stretch. Then we found the rope had been cut, but soon found our way out._

Frelsa nodded enthusiastically.

_Indeed? _Saphira asked, unconvinced.

"Yes, Ebrithil," she replied as innocently as she could.

Eragon was inspecting them, as if not convinced that they had escaped the dark unharmed.

"Uh, Ebrithil?"

"Eragon, not Ebrithil," he replied as he inspected the scales on Kalla's chin.

"We should not waste time. Let us be on our way."

Eragon glanced at her. "Indeed. I doubt that the deception I instructed the healers to undertake will fool many for long."

"So what if someone found out about the truth?" She asked. Frelsa doubted that Drukjl and Shepherd would believe the story of her being under intensive healing for 48 hours straight.

"Oh, it would not matter. I instructed the healers to perform a unique spell, one that would deal with the intruders in a non-violent method."

* * *

"Wake up, Shepherd!"

He woke up. Hard not to when a Kull is slapping you. Prying open his eyes, he looked up into Drukjl's eyes as he crouched over him. "What?"

"Dýrgrir has told me what happened, and I was loathe to leave without you and your firebreather."

Shepherd noticed that he was on the main road, leaning against the wall of the healer's building. Drukjl was crouching beside him with Dýrgrir some distance away. Errol lay snoring serenely next to Shepherd.

He groaned, not out of pain but out of the thought of the blow his social image had just suffered as he lay on the ground.

"What happened?" He asked, feeling bruised and beaten.

"I would have asked you the same."

He looked up and saw that the sky was turning crimson as the sun set. It must be what, six or seven hours past noon?

Shepherd's thoughts were a jumble. "I remember entering that building with you, then going to help Errol, but after that I woke up here."

Drukjl pulled a long face. "Dýrgrir was thrown aside like a cub when the yellow firebreather charged through the doors, but he still saw what happened."

_I pushed on the doors after the yellow dragon and his Rider entered,_ Dýrgrir added._ I knew the charm had been broken. The healers were weaving a spell over you and Errol and thought it wiser to keep myself hidden. After you two fell, I saw the Rider conversing with the healers before walking to the door. I left the building quickly._

"And came outside," Drukjl finished. "…and found me dragging you and Errol over to the side of the road. You had appeared on the street, like a phantom at first, but soon turned to flesh. Gave quite a shock to a few scholars passing by."

Drukjl laughed at this. "We have been trying to wake you and your firebreather for a quarter a hjiltund." In response to Shepherd's confused expression he replied, "Fifteen mi-neu-etes as you say." Shepherd smiled at how his companion could pronounce the strange words of his Urgal language but not Common.

_Moskva!_ Errol blurted out as he awoke.

He turned sharply towards his dragon as the steel coloured creature scrambled to his feet. _Shepherd! How did we… when did we… I thought we were trying to get into the healers' room?_

He retold the story Drukjl had told him while the Urgal and his dragon entertained themselves by snarling at the Riders and scholars who stared too long at them. When he had finished, Errol asked, _Then why have we not left on the search for them?_

_Mainly because we have no idea where to begin the search_, Dýrgrir responded.

"That is where you are mistaken."

Drukjl shot to his feet and drew his copper coloured axe. Shepherd was definitely alarmed as well, that someone could hear a private conversation between them, in their mind. Something that should be impossible. Shepherd struggle to stand, Errol nudging him to his feet, drew Shorren and looked at the eavesdropper.

A woman, brown curly hair and clothed in a brown, long-sleeved frock. She had bright, mischievous eyes and was knitting a long green scarf. Shepherd recognised her, "You were the woman in the corner of the healing house weren't you?"

"Yes, and I must say that show of breaking that locking spell? Very entertaining, though there were easier ways to do so."

"What is your name, human? How did you hear our minds?" Drukjl asked, horns lowered slightly.

"Oh, you should know my name, Drukjl. Your elders would call me Uluthrek. As to your second question, I do have some cards up my sleeve."

Drukjl and Dýrgrir immediately relaxed, the Urgal sheathing his axe and gesturing for Shepherd to do the same. He didn't. "Who is this woman, Ram? And what does that Ululutrek or whatever mean?"

"Oh my name in Common is Angela, and that particular title means 'Mooneater'."

"Huh? You… ate the moon?"

"Why does no one ever believe me? Yes, I did eat the moon. And anyways, I think I might have a way to solve your dilemma. Such a nice word, 'dilemma'."

Errol advanced a step. _If you have knowledge of Frelsa and Kalla's whereabouts then speak!_

"What a temper!" She spoke as if the dragon's anger was a fascinating subject. "You are nothing like Saphira when I met her."

"Saphira?" Shepherd started. "What-"

Angela cut him off, "As I said, a solution to your dilemma. I may or may not be able to tell you how to reach her through a telling of your future."

"You're a fortune teller?" He asked.

"I'd prefer soothsayer. Now, would you like to have your future augured?"

_Yes, but get it over with fast. _

She smiled at them as she reached into a fold of her frock and withdrew a collection of bones, nine in all. Four of them seemed slightly discoloured. "What are those, knucklebones?"

"Frog bones, actually."

Drukjl glanced at him and Shepherd didn't ask about the frog bones. He sheathed Shorren. Angela simply sat on the rough road and started to inspect the bones. Neither Drukjl nor Shepherd sat down. He did not think his social image would survive another blow if he was seen sitting with this strange woman.

She produced a cage, he didn't even know where she kept it in that dress. The cage contained a little gecko covered in blue scales with a yellow belly. She poured the bones gently onto the ground and was about to release the lizard when Dýrgrir spoke, _With respect Uluthrek, but we've little time for prophecies. Our companions may be dying as we speak._

"Oh they're not dying, they're fine, for now…" Angela answered before returning her attention to the cage.

"You have knowledge on this, Uluthrek?" Drukjl asked.

"Might."

Shepherd advanced. "You _have_ to tell us. If we lose Frelsa or Kalla, I wouldn't know how we'd live if they died while we could have saved them."

She nodded thoughtfully as she poked a finger through the cage bars and played with the large lizard. "I would prefer to tell you through the proper way, yes I would. With the extracting of the bones from feces and whatnot."

"What?" He asked in disgust.

_You have knowledge? Speak!_ Errol demanded.

_What our agitated companion meant, Uluthrek_, Dýrgrir said with uncommon politeness. _–is that we are in haste to find our companion. We fear some danger has befallen her._

Angela toyed with the bones and looked at the lizard. "I would like to do it my way, but you are right. She walks into danger, disregarding the prophecies I have told her. And I guess the danger she journeys to must be averted before something inconvenient occurs. Fine."

He had not expected her to yield so easily. He asked expectantly, "So?"

"Frelsa and Kalla journey towards danger through the heart of the volcano alongside Eragon and Saphira."

"What?"

"No questions asked. Eragon and Saphira make these journeys every month or so, but your friends have decided that they'd tag along and earn an early death. You won't be able to follow them through the path they took and catch up with them. There is a second path that will lead you to them, near the peak of the volcano. You would have to devise a spell to keep the air fresh around you up there. But anyways, a tunnel will open every eight hours on the North-East face of the volcano, it lies within a dimple on the face."

When she got up and kept the cage and bones, preparing to leave, Shepherd asked, "That's all? That's all we have to work on?"

"It's more than what you began with."

Granted.

"I would not waste time arguing. If I am correct, the next opening of the tunnel will be in less than an hour."

They were gone when she looked up.

A cat plodded out serenely from the shadows, a large, shaggy black cat with electric blue eyes. _The girl is safe. Should we have told them what would happen if they went?_

"No, I only fear what will happen if they don't."

* * *

They walked through a stretch of tunnel with no wraiths or deep shadow, Eragon's werelight still barely able to illuminate a circle of protection around them. The two Riders and two dragons journeyed in silence. This was a 'reprieve', as he had put it, from the dangers of this underground prison.

The company had been walking for so long, Frelsa was sure that it must be evening by now. Her legs ached and flares of pain shot up whenever she stepped down, but when Kalla offered to carry her she refused. Eragon had walked as long as her but hadn't stopped once or even slowed down. She would not show weakness to him.

On their way through the passage, Frelsa saw a side passage and for the brief time Eragon's light illuminated it she saw deep within its reaches two indistinct shapes, sharp and angular. She peered closer and saw two skeletons there, one of a tall slender humanoid and the other of a huge dragon. Their bones were white as winter, the dragon slumped on the floor and the Rider still sitting upon his steed's back in death. The smaller skeleton still had shreds of armour attached to his body, curious marks ringing the metal edges, almost like bite marks. Just before the light of Eragon's passed the passage, she thought she saw the skeleton's grinning skull turn slightly towards them. She decided not to speak of it.

Frelsa thought of something. "Master, why is this 'Pilgrimage' fraught with peril? Surely whoever made this prison would've wanted the Leaders of the Riders to reach their destination quickly?"

"But it would also be reached quickly by those who could use the power to their own ends. Upon this journey there are three obstacles in our path. The danger to Mind, the danger to Heart, and the danger to Body. The true Danger at the end is the danger to World," he added, rather melancholically.

"The first danger took form in the wraiths of Rider's past. A sea of ghostly phantoms, to weed out the fearful and send them back to the surface. There are many in the past century who thought they could brave this out but were found wandering the island gibbering about ghosts."

Frelsa remembered the bearded old man who emerged from the forest screaming about dead Riders who came to life and lived underground. He had been carter off to the mainland soon after. "The second danger, danger to Heart, took form in a world of shadow inhabited by the demons of your mind. Once you entered, you could not leave save through the other side, and to find the exit one only had to have courage and faith, cast aside fear of their demons and walk into the darkness with greatness in them. Those who didn't, never left the dark."

"Now the third, the danger to Body, we should come across it soon. And when we do, follow me lead. Remember our lessons."

She was puzzled by this, but Eragon was not forthcoming with an answer to this. Frelsa decided to entertain herself by asking another question, "Ebrithil, you said that this journey was futile, but still brought me along. Why?"

"To show you how hopeless your struggle is." She was taken aback by how calm he was as he responded.

_But if it was, you wouldn't have brought us along in the first place_, Kalla countered.

Eragon nor Saphira answered, but their silence was all the answer she needed. Somehwere, deep down, they nursed the suspicion that she and Kalla just might, just might, be able to help them. She did not know how they would, or whether they could, but the thought gave her courage.

They came to a peculiar area. The tunnel walls were gone and only the floor remained, narrowing to a walkway of only ten metres or so. Just enough for Saphira to get across. They stopped at the beginning of the walkway where the walls and ceiling ended so abruptly. Darkness stretched out in either direction and Frelsa feared that this might be another plain of shadow, but realised that it wasn't as impenetrable and was illuminated by Eragon's werelight.

The walkway itself did not have any railings and had lost all signs of ancient but once fine architecture, turning from neat bricks and tiles inscribed with runes to flat, dusty stone. Eragon's werelight flared in intensity and he began the journey across the path behind Saphira. He glanced back, "The path grows treacherous. Tread carefully. The path will only grow thinner. And try not to fall off. There is enough space here that Kalla could fly down to retrieve you, but just… don't."

She followed apprehensively behind Eragon, slightly fearful. But if he could do it for so many decades she must be able to weather it once. Frelsa began the journey across. The path was wide enough that she didn't fear falling off the edge, but she could see that the two sides were tapering together.

The path grew closer and closer together, soon Saphira had to take off and follow them at a slow pace from above. Kalla soon followed. Eragon glanced at them before she took off, "Do not rider Kalla, without saddles I would not want to risk you falling off."

"How about you Ebrithil? You have a saddle."

"Eragon, not Ebrithil. And I have learnt from experience not to trust many material things in this underground, foremost among them my saddle straps."

He spoke as if the memory displeased him.

_How's the view up there, Kalla?_ She asked sarcastically.

_Great, if you're find darkness pleasing. The shadows spread in every direction, the most I can glean about our surroundings is that we're in a giant cavern, more than a thousand metres in either direction._

She wondered how far underground they were for a cave this large to exist unnoticed.

Very quickly, the path shrunk to barely three metres, then only one. Frelsa shuffled one foot forward slowly, before shuffling the other foot ahead. She had a feeling that it was a long way down if she fell, and it would not be very comfortable. Frelsa gave a cry and a section of loose rock gave way beneath her soles, falling into darkness. She teetered on one foot, arms flailing about before she fell backwards, screaming.

A hand grabbed the front of her tunic and halted her fall. Frelsa looked up to see Eragon standing on the walkway, holding her with one hand. He pulled her back up onto the path and continued nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened. She, possessed by a strange desire to survey what would have killed her, looked over the side to where the loose stones had fallen.

_What do you think is down there?_ Kalla asked as she hovered overhead.

A series of splashes reached their ears. She replied, _I guess we know now. Probably an underground lake of some sort._ She wondered what sort of strange beasts lived down there, pale fish whose fathers were unfortunate enough to chance upon this world. Eyeless creatures, never once seeing the light of day.

The path remained at a spacing of one metre for a long stretch, cracks running through and around the walkway alarming her.

Thankfully, the path had begun to widen. Once Eragon saw this, he drew Brisingr. "Draw your sword Frelsa, we near our last obstacle."

What sort of challenge would this be, she wondered, what sort of demon would they have to challenge.

She was surprised when Eragon stopped. He raised his hand and pointed at his werelight, which quickly began to flare to the intensity of a small sun, illuminating their immediate world. The path had stretched back to its original size, ten metres in length and forming a roughly rectangular area. There were huge gates at the other end, huge enough for dragons to fly through. They were black as the shadows, the doors embossed with strange designs and the rims were gilded. To either side of the doors stretched endless limestone walls and the tips of long stalactites were just visible, hanging down from above.

There were several bodies strewn across the area, almost like a bare stone courtyard. A huge skeleton lay on its back, grinning to the heavens. It must have been ten feet tall in life, and what was surprising was the pair of magnificent horns curling from the top of the skull. The Urgal must have been a huge Kull in life, and had died at his peak. He had some rusted iron plates still strapped to his body and a large horned pauldron on his right shoulder. A few furs still ringed his waist like a war skirt. His right hand was curled around a giant wooden club studded with spikes, one a good sized man would have used as a two handed weapon, and on the other arm was attached a shield.

A short dwarf skeleton lay against a rock, head hung low, a scraggly brown beard still attached to his dead body. He was large for a dwarf and a double bladed battle axe made of rusted metal lay to one side. The dwarf had died in a full suit of armour, thick plates of pitted and corroded metal that covered his whole body. The helmet had rolled off to one side, exposing the thick and wide skull.

The last body was tall and slender, an elf most likely. He was garbed in elegant armour, the likes of which Frelsa had seen on some of the older wraiths. The armour had countless teeth and gnaw marks on it and the green and gold metal was discoloured from accumulated dirt and marked with countless blade marks. A cape was visible, a long cape, grey with age and tattered at the edges. He was attached to the wall next to the door by an Elven sword, the blade penetrating through armour and bone and cape, sinking several inches into the stone behind.

There were also curious marks in the walkway, deep gouges in the stone and fire blackened patches. Eragon seemed hesitant, not daring to walk straight towards the gates. Frelsa asked impatiently, "Ebrithil, we've passed the danger. What more is there to fear?"

She was already walking towards the doors when he looked at her. Saphira's voice rang out, _Frelsa! Get back! Kalla, don't go!_

She wasn't about to stop when their destination was so close.

"That walkway was not the danger, Frelsa. The danger, is before us-"

There was a crackling noise. The alien intrusion echoed around the cavern. She looked up at the stone courtyard, frantically searching for the source of the sound. There was nothing. Then there was another sound, rusted metal sliding against metal. The elven body seemed to glance at her but Frelsa paid it no attention, drawing Delswoir and settling into her sparring stance. She realised that she was nearly ten metres from Eragon.

Then the body glanced at her again as the sound of smooth metal sliding against a hard surface reached her ears. She frantically asked Kalla, _What is it? _

_Master Saphira told you to stop didn't she?_

_Just tell me what stalks us!_

The dragon didn't answer. Frelsa paused. There was a sound, something scraping against the dirt covered ground. Eragon spoke slowly and calmly, "Keep calm, Frelsa. When I say so, run towards me. Understand?"

She felt like screaming. The scraping noise was close. Right behind her. A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. Was it that hot here?

_Kalla! What's happening? Tell me!_

_Keep calm, Frelsa. Don't move, and-_

Something angular and cold wrapped around her bare ankle. She screamed, and in a cave that sound becomes pretty loud. Frelsa turned around, pivoting on her left foot grasped in an iron grip. On the ground, lying on its belly, was the skeleton of the Urgal. It stared straight up at her in a mocking grin, empty sockets where the eyes would be. The thing's skeletal hand was around her leg.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, before she started screaming again and stomped on the skeleton's visage with the heel of her foot. The skeleton did not let go. She stomped again and again, hacking at the body. The dead Kull didn't seem to notice, raising his other hand and wrapping it higher up her leg, trying to pull the rest of his stiff skeleton up.

_Kalla! Where are you!_

She got her answer a second later when a green blur flashed past her vision and she felt the skeleton's grips ripped off her body. Frelsa turned and saw Kalla carrying the writhing skeleton in her claws, swooping up and releasing the body. The Urgal shot forward like an arrow and slammed against the doors, a sharp cracking noise resounding.

Kalla landed next to Frelsa and asked, _Frelsa, are you okay?_

_What was that!_ She screamed mentally.

"That, my student, was the third danger." She looked towards Eragon, whose face was hidden in a mask of uncommon anger. "I had hoped we could make it past the Guardians without stirring them, but unfortunately not."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Frelsa replied, pleading for forgiveness. "I don't know why I even did that, forgive me Ebrithil, please forgive me."

He replied, "It is in the past." He did not seem like he had forgiven her yet. "Ready yourself!"

The other two skeletons had begun to awaken. The Dwarven one had grabbed his helmet and placed it upon his head, his rusted armour rattling and hefting up his battle-axe, while the Elven skeleton had pulled the Elf sword out of his chest, dropping to the floor where he lay on his knees, tattered cape covering his figure, struggling to his feet. The Urgal had also risen from where he fell, advancing towards them with nothing but his shield in hand.

_What are these demons?_ Kalla asked as she bent close to the ground and snarled.

"No demons, real mortals like you and me once. When this prison was formed, four guardians, strongest of the races in Alagaësia then. An Urgal war chief," Eragon crouched as the Urgal threw its shield like a disc at him, the projectile curving through the air and fading into the darkness after it missed. "-a Dwarf clan chief and an Elven prince. Given the honour to defend this prison after death."

_What an honour_, Kalla remarked as she growled at the slowly advancing Urgal. The Dwarf and Elf were growing accustomed to their surroundings, stumbling slowly towards them.

1, 2, 3. Where was the fourth? "Ebrithil, you said there were four, where is the last Guardian?"

_Pray you do not meet him_, Saphira replied grimly as she flew over the courtyard, swathing the skeletons in fire. When the fire cleared, the beings were still marching grimly towards them, pockets of fire burning within them.

"We need to get to the gates!" Eragon commanded, and raised Brisingr to block the blow of the Urgal as he struck with his studded club. Somehow the wood was barely nocked by the weapon. The Urgal struck again and Eragon slipped out under the skeleton's raised arm, slicing across the dead Kull's ribcage. It barely flinched, swinging the club again.

The dead Elf prince targeted Frelsa, the lethargy of his brethren absent in him. He swung the long steel sword like a whip, the blade flashing in a flurry of metal as he advanced, his death grin daring his adversary to try and survive. She barely raised Delswoir in time as the blade swung down, then wasn't even able to try and block as another swing came from below in an instant. She survived the blow that would've gutted her by a fluke, Delswoir's scabbard blocking the swing.

Frelsa raised her hand and pointed at the Elf with her index and middle finger, shouting, "Ganga aptr!"

The Elf didn't stop once, loosing a slice that nearly decapitated her. Eragon noticed and shouted across at her, "Do not use magic, they are impervious to it!"

As she tried to survive, she glanced out of the corner of her eye Kalla swooping down again and picking up the Dwarf. The dragon flew one round around the courtyard before throwing him towards over the side of the courtyard where he would fall into the lake below. One down.

But instead of flying out into space and to his demise, the Dwarf halted in mid-air, exactly where the courtyard ended and fell back down to the stone.

_Do not try Kalla, it is impossible to bring them out of this area of the walkway_, Saphira informed her as she roared, dropping the Urgal whom she had bit and attempted to bite through. Her snout had a deep gash in the blue flesh, sullying the dragon's perfection. Eragon tried to impale the skeleton with Brisingr, but it was to no avail.

Frelsa raised her weapon to parry a blow from the Elf prince and crying out at the shock travelling up her arm. She staggered back as Delswoir flew from her grasp, and the skeleton's grin seemed to widen, advancing slowly towards her. Frelsa didn't know how, but she knew that the dead Elf did not think he had need to rush to finish off this welp.

She did not know how they could make it past, or how she could survive. Eragon must have been a genius to devise a way to proceed. The skeletons seemed invulnerable to damage or pain. The Urgal still had not managed to land a blow on Eragon but seemed just as fast as the Elf, and hit a ton harder. Saphira flew in deranged circles, trying to dislodge the Dwarf skeleton on her back as he hacked at her hard scales with his axe, Kalla tailed Saphira, trying to knock off the Dwarf. She seemed to notice her Rider's plight and roared, peeling out to save Frelsa. But just as Saphira passed the smaller dragon, the Dwarf, displaying amazing agility for a dead body, leaped from the blue dragon onto the green, attacking Kalla

Frelsa regretted not requesting a set of more protective covering back at Eragon's cave, or better yet, armour, but he had set off in his present clothes and she did not want to stall him by getting a new set of her own. She knew she had little chance against this Elf prince, he struck harder than her _and _he was faster. The skeleton waited for her to rise, watching as she stuck Delswoir into the stone beneath her for support and watching as she rose to her feet shakily, before using his sword to knock Delswoir out of its position and sending her to the ground again. She cursed openly at the skeleton, to which he did not answer. She was thankful for that, talking skeletons was the only way this could get more morbid.

Picking up Delswoir, she remembered Eragon's last sparring lesson. _'Do not block the attacks of a stronger opponent. Dodge them! Lean back, sidestep. Be a reed and bend in the winds.'_

He stared down at her, allowing her to completely rise to her feet this time. She levelled Delswoir at him and snarled just like Kalla would. The action startled her, but she was fed up with this skeleton.

She bent back as the Elf's blade swung within an inch of her face, then hopped aside as the blade came swinging down and collided with the ground. The Elf stabbed at her, and she spun aside and sliced the skeleton across the chest, the green brightsteel carving a path for itself through the armour. The being looked down in surprise, amazed that the girl had actually landed a hit on him. When he looked back, he stared at her with his customary grin.

Knocking aside the skeleton's weapon while his guard was down, she stabbed Delswoir through his armour, adding another hole to his chest plate. She had miscalculated the strike, expecting more resistance she had stabbed hard and the blade passed through a gap in the ribs easily, sending her forth with her momentum. The skeleton pressed both his arms to Frelsa's shoulders and strained to push her away, but he seemed to have weakened, barely able to hold her back. She decided to rub some salt in the wound, and kicked the Elf to the side, forcing the blade to slice through the whole wall of ribs.

Frelsa stepped back and took a moment to admire her handiwork, a huge rent in the ancient armour through which a row or detached ribs were visible. The skeleton just grinned at her. The splinters of bone that had flown away floated off the ground, slipping through the gash in the metal and reattaching themselves to the ribs, repairing the wound. He grinned at his newly repaired ribs, then at Frelsa, before picking up his sword and slicing at her. She had tried to dodge, but was taken by surprise, only managing to raise her left arm in defence and staggered backwards, falling onto the ground.

The Elf had turned his back on Frelsa and had started towards Eragon, who was trying to pin down the Urgal using magic, piling rocks upon the body which kept on resurfacing. He could not manipulate the skeleton's bodies with magic but he could manipulate their surroundings. She had not the time to devise a spell to use the earth around her.

Frelsa staggered forward, Delswoir clattering against the ground. The skeleton did not turn around. She saw Kalla nearing her, the Dwarf still on her back, blood streaming off her scales. Swearing to show the Dwarf's soul her vengance if she survived, Frelsa crawled to behind the Elf. They were halfway to Eragon. She had to act now or her Master would be caught unawares.

Reaching up Frelsa grabbed onto the back of the Elf Prince's armour. He stopped and turned towards her and loomed above the girl, his skull's features appearing infinitely more malevolent in the werelight. He grinned at her as she struggled to her knees. Frelsa had just about had it with Bone-boy's grins.

"Smile at this," she grunted as she raised Delswoir. "-you bony piece of-"

Frelsa plunged her long green sword into the skeleton's knee, fragments of bone flying out. The skeleton buckled as his attacker got to her feet, raising her sword. As the splinters of the Elf's ruined knee began to trace their path back to their origin to repair themselves, she swung Delswoir across the monster's face, sending the lower jaw flying to the far side of the courtyard. "Try and smile now."

Thankfully, this beast did not seem as resilient as the Urgal, who got up even as he was missing limbs and major bones to continue the fight. The Elf fell onto all fours, crawling around in confusion. He was out of action for now. At least until his lower jaw returned and he started grinning again.

"Kalla!" Frelsa called. She saw the green dragon on the ground, the Dwarf still on her back and trying to hack through the tough scales. Saphira was on the ground as well, pinning down Kalla's limbs and trying to remove the Dwarf who kept leaping out of the way of the scything jaws. The Urgal seemed to also be becoming nimbler, Eragon was barely avoiding most of the attacks, and sooner or later he would make a mistake.

Saphira closed her jaws around the Dwarf, strained once then bit him in half, throwing one half to the corner of the courtyard and the lower half to the other corner. She then flew over to Eragon and pounced on the Urgal, trying to dismember him.

Frelsa ran to Kalla's side, and paled at the axe wounds on her back. She couldn't tell how deep they were, but they were pouring out blood. _Stay still, Kalla. I'll try and heal all these…_

_Hello? Any day now Frelsa_, Kalla replied after Frelsa froze there, looking at her dragon's blood pooling around her shoes.

_Yeah, yeah. I'll-I'll do it. _She exhaled and grasped her mental kite. "Waíse heill."

She pressed her hands onto the wounds and shivered as the blood soon covered her fingers. The wounds were mostly superficial, thankfully, and healed easily. The spell quickly replicated the blood lost. Kalla twisted around and inspected her wounds. _Humans, annoying, but you do have your uses._

_Ha ha, very funny._

Eragon shouted "Brisingr!" and his blue blade which he had buried in the Urgal's head caught fire, blue flames coating the length of the weapon. Frelsa gasped, she had never heard of anyone able to do that with one spell. The two Dwarf halves were crawling rather humorously towards each other.

_Uh oh, we've got a shadow, Frelsa._

She looked back and saw the Elf's jaw had floated back to him and reattached itself. He was walking towards them, flourishing his blade in one had while he adjusted his jaw with the other. Not him again, she thought.

He never reached her. A tremor ran through the ground, dust and loose rocks rained from the ceiling. Frelsa fell to the ground while Kalla and Saphira pressed her body flat against the stone, trying to stay stable. Eragon fell to his knees and used his blade to support himself. The Elf was not spared, falling to all fours. The tremors shook Frelsa to the core, making her bones vibrate and her brain seemed to bounce around her skull, aching horribly.

"W-Wha-at is g-going o-o-on?" She shouted.

Saphira turned her neck towards her. _The fourth Guardian has awaken. We have no chance at victory against him, get to the Gates!_

There was the sound like a huge waterfall, and something rose out of the darkness and wrapped around the walkway they had emerged from, just outside the werelight's illumination. A huge shape, gigantic in the shadows, rose from the dark and stood upon the walkway, huge thin claw like appendages extending to either side, seemingly hundreds of metres in length. Two fiery red spots appeared where its eyes were.

The Elf got to his feet and stared at the fourth Guardian, then straight at Frelsa. His grin seemed to widen and his eyes began to glow with a fire, a fire like that of the fourth but green as Kalla's scales, as if the presence of the huge creature empowered him.

"To the Gates!" Eragon shouted. They had a chance to get past now, while the Dwarf skeleton was down and the Urgal skeleton was still trying to get to his feet. The Elf, however, was in perfect condition, running towards them.

They raced to the Gates, and the dragons strained to push open the ornate obsidian doors. Eragon sent the Elf flying back by slamming a rock into his chest, but the skeleton immediately got up and ran towards them again.

The Doors flew open, and there was a thudding noise, like when Saphira and the largest dragons walked, but a hundred times more powerful. They strained to close the doors, and as they almost slid shut, a bony hand, armoured in elegant Elven armour reached through the gap, stoppering the doors. The scything hand grasped the nearest object, Frelsa, and tried to pull her through the gap.

She placed her hands and legs on either door and strained to stay put as the skeleton opened his gaping grin and seemed to laugh at her, emitting a bone chilling rattling noise.

Frelsa felt something around her waist and looked down, seeing a pair of sharp green claws, pulling her back.

Then they saw the fourth Guardian enter the light. It was a dragon. But not like any she had seen before.

He must have been five times Saphira's size at least. He bore no skin or scales, just pale bones shining in the werelight. Water gleamed off his body and Frelsa realised he must have come from the lake below. The dragon's claw like appendages turned out to be wings, huge and in the absence of the membrane that granted flight the wings appeared like nothing more than giant spindly claws. The beast growled at them, the sound making Frelsa shake where she stood. The dragon leaped forward and snapped at the doors, eyes blazing with fire, maw opened and roaring at them. She did not know how a skeleton could do so, but he did. She shut her eyes and screamed as the sound deafened her world. This monster's roar made Saphira's sound like a purr.

The armour on the Elf's arm began to crumple, crushed by the doors of the Gates. Cracking emanated from the arm but the skeleton's rattling laugh continued. If the dragon hit the Gates before they were shut they would have no chance of holding him back.

The Elf kept on laughing as the dragon lumbered nearer, bones shaking the world around him. She saw a small stone whizz past her ear and nail the skeleton in his burning green eye sockets, cracking a hole through his skull. He continued laughing even as he relinquished his grip and fell backwards.

The last thing she saw before the Gates closed was the jaws of the dragon as he charged them. The Gates shut and shook as the dragon rammed it, clouds of dust and dirt blowing through the bottom. A muffled roar reached them and ended. No more sounds came through the doors.

Frelsa sighed and fell backwards onto Kalla, limbs aching and throbbing, especially her left arm. "Well that's something ain't it?"

_Uh, Frelsa?_

_ Yes, Kalla?_

_ Your arm's sliced open._

_ Huh?_ She looked down at her left arm and realised that her skin all along the forearm was parted, revealing the crimson flesh beneath. Blood flowed down in sheets.

_Aw, f-_

* * *

30-11-13

Chapter 5's complete, finally. I've had a busy time these few days so haven't been able to write much, and I have a fear that what I _did_ write wasn't written well. If there are any loopholes in this plot just tell me, I'll get them fixed within that same day. I might or might not be able to keep up my '1 a day' schedule but then again, coffee works wonders.


	6. Snip the Puppet strings

Frelsa nervously felt the skin on her left arm. The cut was gone, but tingles and shivers still raced up her arm. The sight of the cut, flesh hanging slack, muscle underneath gleaming in the werelight, still haunted her.

_Urgh, you know for a Rider, you are _very_ squeamish_, Kalla grumbled as they followed Eragon.

She knew she should be used to it, being a Rider for as long as she had been, but the sight of wounds, bright and red, always made her wriggle and squirm in her flesh, especially if the wounds belonged to her.

They trailed behind Eragon and Saphira as they made their way up a flight of stairs, as wide as the tunnels. The stairway rose in a gentle slope, the steps wide enough for Saphira to step on. Frelsa and Kalla trailed behind.

"You cannot disregard our warnings as such, Frelsa. We cannot afford it," Eragon spoke.

She answered confused, "Why? We got past didn't we?"

"We did, but by the skin on our teeth. A second later, and the Fourth Guardian would have claimed us."

"Okay, Ebrithil, I'm sorry." She would never have normally been so rude, but she was tired and bitter, regretting ever thinking about following Eragon on this journey.

"Do not disregard me, Frelsa," Eragon replied calmly, somehow able to read her emotions without looking at her. "I do not say this for your sake, but for Kalla's."

"Huh?"

"You can lower your arm and let the whip fall upon your back, but never upon the child who watches."

Frelsa rolled her eyes. Riddles? Seriously?

_He means, little one, _Saphira explained, _is that you can do anything any number of times if it harms you and you can bear the pain, but never do anything that could bring harm to one you love._

She remembered the gashes on Kalla's back, the hot, thick blood flowing over the green scales. "Yes, Ebrithil."

"Do not 'Yes, Ebrithil' me!" Eragon said, voice rising to a shout. She faltered, staring in shock at him as his voice echoed around the stair well. Frelsa heard him breathe deeply.

"I had made the mistake before, and would never wish that pain and guilt to befall someone else," he said, voice soft.

"Ebrithil?"

She saw him rub a scar on his lower right arm. "There was once a man I knew, he was my family. His name was Roran Garrowson."

The name seemed familiar. Kalla spoke, _A man who built a castle in some valley I think._

"This man was my cousin, and closer than a brother. I told you how the Danger works upon those closet to them who keep his prison? When I found this island, I wrote to him every week, sending the letters to him by magic. But thirty two years, four months and nine days ago today, marked the ninth week I had forgotten to write to him. Saphira begged me to do so, but I did not."

Eragon lay his hand on Saphira's side. "He was fraught with despair, and took the first ever ship to this island to find out what had happened to me. I saw the ship from afar, and took flight to meet them. I saw him, standing on the schooner's deck, waving his hammer at me. The Danger let me see that much of him, before he took my brother from me. A giant Nïdhwal broke the surface and swallowed the ship whole."

Frelsa realised Eragon was sobbing softly. "He let me see that much, my brother's smiling face as he looked at me, before those jaws closed over him. A shard of glass from a shattered window of the ship found its mark deep in my arm. I removed the glass, but left the wound unhealed. As a reminder."

She felt the sorrow from Eragon and Saphira pressing down on her, threatening to crush her consciousness. He turned back and looked at her. "Do not make the same mistake I did. The smallest slight, will come back to harm you in ways you could never imagine."

They walked in silence.

Eragon halted before a pair of gates, spanning the length of the stairway. They were, like the gates in the courtyard, made of gilded obsidian, but there were no fine images carved upon it. No beautiful designs stretching its length. Just flat darkness.

"We have reached the end."

* * *

_Faster, Errol!_

Wind screamed in his ears, Shepherd pressed his body flat against Errol's scales as they shot up through the sky. The dragon followed the slope of the volcano as he rose. They made much better distance than their last trip due to the absence of a storm. Today the mountain was topped with a huge pillar of cloud, shielding the summit from view.

Drukjl was visible several metres to their left, sitting saddled on Dýrgrir as they flew on par with the human and his dragon. The ground fell further and further away as they shot up into the sky. The huge buildings seemed tiny from their perch and even the largest dragons were ants to them.

Shepherd had tried to think of a spell to give them air high up where there was none. His vocabulary of the Ancient Language limited his choices, hindering him to try and form a bonfire from two sticks. Eragon's policy had always been to use a smaller range of words to perform a larger range of tasks. In the end, he had settled on a weak, "Taka du vindr suiln nosu sé ǫnd." 'Give the air so we may breathe.'

Errol made a sharp left and continued straight up, the tips of a large oak nearly impaling them. Drukjl glanced at Shepherd and didn't bother to use breathe here where air was precious. _The sky grows thin, you have the spell?_

_ Got it right here, Ram. _Few Urgals were fluent in the Ancient Language, or bothered to learn it well, save the shamans. Even the most talented magic users among the Urgal Riders wove spells with only four words at most. Anything above that was left to other races, or their own strength.

_Shepherd, we are nearing 4,000 metres. Keep your spell ready, _Errol reminded.

The vegetation on the volcano sides were growing sparser, replaced by flat expanses of black rock. No snow here, unlike the Beors.

Shepherd saw a wall of clouds moving towards them as they flew. If they wanted to reach the summit, they would have to pass the white wall. He caught himself gasping for air and readied to cast the spell. He looked towards Drukjl, who seemed woozy as he hung onto one of Dýrgrir's spikes. _Ready, Ram?_

_ Ready._

He closed his eyes, drawing on his magic. "Taka du vindr suiln nosu sé ǫnd!"

The tax on his strength was surprisingly large, but it seemed to work. He did not need to gasp for air, and Drukjl seemed to lose the feeling of wooziness, shaking his head to clear it.

_Two-legs, so weak_, Errol remarked. _Can't even stand a bit of thin air._

_ Let's see if you say that when we reach the summit_, Shepherd replied. Even dragons had their limits.

The huge pillars of clouds loomed over them, immaculate clouds so white that some parts seemed blinding. They came closer and closer, before they were devoured.

The clouds closed over their heads, and it was surprisingly dark within. The white façade was gone, replaced by grey darkness. There was only one patch of brightness where the Sun would be, the only marker to keep their course straight. Shepherd was pleased to find that the spell had formed a sphere of breathable air around them, shielding them from the moisture in the clouds. As the sphered passed through the huge puffs of grey it produced an interesting effect, causing tiny droplets to appear on the edge of the sphere and race down the smooth sides in long tendrils of water.

_Ram, Dýrgrir, you guys there?_

_ Still going up_, Drukjl responded.

There was nothing in either direction but a wall of clouds, Drukjl and Dýrgrir were hidden from view, invisible in this grey world.

Shepherd heard a sizzle from the left, and turned towards the unexpected noise. On his side, moving just as fast as Errol, was a tiny blue spark that sped up alongside them. It seemed to hop and twist in delight. He stared at it for a moment before the spark sprouted limbs of energy, saluting him and disappearing into the clouds.

_Strange things haunt this island, below _and_ above_, Errol remarked.

_You getting philosophical on me, mate?_

* * *

"There is nothing that can prepare you for what lies behind the doors."

Eragon placed one palm flat on the door.

"The Danger will try to ignite your fears, doubts and suspicions. But you _cannot_ listen to him. Whatever happens, whatever you see or hear, you cannot fall to it. If you do…"

He did not finish his sentence, the silence making the statement that much more foreboding.

Eragon swung himself up onto Saphira's back as she reared up and forced the doors open. They swung surprisingly silently and easily, making barely a shuffle as the huge stones moved across the floor. Golden light flooded out and swathed them.

_Are you ready for this?_ Kalla asked, looking at her Rider.

_Not at all_, Frelsa said even as she mounted her dragon. _But screw it, let's go._

The two of them followed in the footsteps of their masters, entering the room.

She raised an arm to shield her eyes from the light, her eyes so accustomed to the dark of the tunnels. After a moment, Frelsa lowered her arm and dared to squint forwards.

They emerged into a large circular room several hundred metres in diameter, every corner of it illuminated in golden light. No cold grey stone, huge smooth walls of pearly marble rose on all sides, supported by golden columns. She looked up and the ceiling seemed an eternity's flight away. This room must stretch the height of the volcano. The floor was made of ivory, an intricate motif of strange luminescent metal depicting strange beings fighting among each other, spiralling outwards from the centre of the circle. The room was bare, devoid of anything not attached to the walls or floor.

There were four pale statues at regular intervals around the room, an Urgal, an Elf, a Dwarf and a Dragon. Each was hundreds of metres tall, the largest being the dragon, a giant ivory figure in the likeness of a mighty wyrm, every ridge on each scale painstakingly carved. The Urgal stood, straight backed, garbed in exquisite armour of steel and hide, or what counted as exquisite for Urgals, and had an axe in each hand. The Dwarf had a giant hammer and was almost completely covered in thick armour. The Elf had a long flowing cape of marble that swept before him, his armour like waves, each plate flowing easily into the next. He held a long sword which he pressed close to his side and a white helmet shielded his long, pale face. They all bore stoic expressions, sad and grim, staring down at them.

But what dominated the room lay in the centre. A grey sphere was suspended over the ground at the centre of the room, the motif covering the ground spiralling out from under it. The sphere was fairly large, almost twice the size of Saphira. It seemed alien, a huge grey tumour soiling the perfection of this ivory and gold paradise. This was where Eragon and Saphira made a beeline for.

"Wha… What is this place?" Frelsa asked in wonder as Kalla went forth, bringing them straight under the gaze of the four statues. She stared around the room with mouth agape. The larger than life statues loomed around them, staring down at the sphere as if sadly inspecting its surface. The golden light around them seemed to radiate from every wall, every stone, every inch of metal.

"This, is the prison of the Danger," Eragon replied, not even glancing at her. "Come, Frelsa, I've no wish to linger here."

"But this place…it's so…"

_Beautiful_, Kalla finished, in equal awe of their surroundings.

_Indeed it is_, Saphira replied wistfully. _But the most beautiful flower can bear the most toxic poison._

Kalla followed Saphira, and Frelsa decided to dismount and continue on foot to admire the motif on the ground more closely. She slid off her dragon's back and immediately cried out as her feet touched the ground. Even through the soles of her shoes she had felt an immense heat emanating from the ground. Frelsa scrambled back up onto Kalla's back.

"Be careful, the ground is hot," Eragon warned.

"You don't say, Ebrithil."

"Eragon, not Ebrithil."

_Why didn't you warn me, Kalla?_ She asked in outrage.

_I think our definition of hot is very, very different._ She replied in amusement, glancing behind her at the Rider on her back.

_Oh ha ha, dragon,_ Frelsa replied as she removed her scorched shoes to inspect her feet. Even down here, where their doom might be impending, Kalla still found a way to annoy her and amuse herself.

_Why do you think the ground's burning?_ She asked her dragon as she nursed her burnt soles.

_Could be anything. A prevention to stop those without dragons at their sides, a final hurdle, or maybe just a side effect of this room being situated within a volcano._

"Come, we must get this over with quick," Eragon called.

They made their way to the sphere. As they neared Frelsa noticed that the surface of the sphere was completely smooth, devoid of nicks or cracks. The grey object was composed of strange smaller circular panes of that grey material, arranged in an overlapping pattern.

They stopped before the sphere, Kalla some distance behind Saphira.

"I will now repair the bonds laid upon this prison, Frelsa," Eragon informed. "Do not believe what you hear from now."

Saphira twisted around to allow Eragon to get close enough to lay his hands on it.

"Prepare yourself."

He lay his hands against it and exhaled. Eragon closed his eyes.

When the attack came, it was fast. And powerful. A mental probe of huge, gargantuan might pervaded her mind so quickly she could not even try to raise her defences. She tried to lock herself and her prized memories away deep within but the probe was faster, scanning each memory, thought, secret she had instantaneously. The probe filled her consciousness, operating on a level of intricacy she would never believe possible, inspecting one thought then discarding it, moving to another.

Kalla roared beneath her, obviously in discomfort. Saphira and Eragon were silent, staring straight at the grey sphere, showing no signs of pain.

The probe stripped her mind bare, then went even further. It pulled out memories she had long forgotten, memories she did not even know she had. Glimpses of her past before the Riders, a past before she washed up on the shores of their island. A past she could not remember. But the memories locked themselves away just as quickly.

After an eternity, the probe deserted her. She felt discarded, each memory in a wrong place, each thought in a wrong niche, but soon her mind rearranged itself, forcing her every used and inspected section of her mind back into line. Kalla shook her head to clear it up. Eragon and Saphira remained impassive as ever.

"Ebrithil…" Frelsa asked, her voice sounding too hoarse, unlike her own. "What was that…?"

No answer came forth. Eragon's brow furrowed and his features grew agitated, eyes never once opening. Saphira's own bony eyelids slid shut.

Eragon cried out and fell flat upon Saphira's side. His hands became claw like and he gripped his dragon's blue scales in pain. Saphira herself roared and tried to dig her claws into the ivory floor. The golden light seemed to dull.

_You're late, Eragon._

* * *

The ship tipped to and fro. Arya sat on the side of her bed and looked out the window at the sky, which had by now faded to darkness. A few fingers of red sunlight still grasped desperately at the horizon. She sensed Fírnen lounging in the night air on the deck.

A surge of humour emnated from him.

_Arya, you should come up here. There's something quite amusing._

_ What is it?_ She asked, wondering if she had had any plans arranged for that evening.

_Just come. It is very-_

Arya could feel Fírnen stiffening, turning back towards the island as before.

_ Fírnen, its happening again isn't it?_

_ I… do not know what you speak of._

_ Don't lie to me!_ Arya realised she had shouted that statement physically as well._ I will not… cannot stand anymore lies._

Fírnen was obviously uncomfortable. _I cannot. I have sworn in the Ancient Language not to do so._

_ Where have I heard those words before?_ She asked accusingly. _Has everyone sworn to seclude me from this subject?_

Silence.

She fell back onto her comfortable bed, smoothing out the folds in her evening gown.

_If only the other Elves could see you now, devoid of all formalities and florid speech_, Fírnen remarked humorously.

Arya knew he was trying to change the subject but humoured him anyway. _They'd see an uncultured heathen._

_They'd see you for who you truly are_, Fírnen corrected. _If they saw you how I see you now, then you'd be Queen of Alagaësia, and they wouldn't dare give you a title any less._

She chuckled and walked over to her mirror. The bowl of scented water was gone now.

_I wonder how Eragon's doing?_ She thought to herself.

_No!_ She had promised herself not to think of him. How he had not even told her what plagued him.

_But he had sworn on the Ancient Language…_

Where had the voice come from? It sounded so different, not the voice of anyone she knew, definitely not Fírnen.

_You can help him, if you go to him now. Now…_

So soft and persuasive, like a gentle wind blowing her in the right direction.

_Arya, what is going on?_ Fírnen asked.

_Go, Elf Queen, go save Eragon, before it's too late…_

_ Arya, don't shut me out!_ He knew something was wrong. She did too, but could not bring herself to cut off that beautiful voice.

_ He was not keeping you in the dark, he was inviting you to help him. He could not reveal the secret until another has seen it, and who do you think this other will be?_

_ Arya, shut out whoever speaks to you! If you don't I'll-_

_ Troublesome little dragon. _Fírnen's presence evaporated.

Arya called in alarm, _Fírnen! Where are you?_

_ Do not worry, Elf Queen. He shall wake when we have concluded our conversation. _

She calmed down, almost against her will. Arya knew powerful magic was at work, but she did not stop it. She could not.

_But how, how can I help Eragon?_

_ Go to the island. Fly, Elf Queen. Your green dragon will wake in your presence, and you must both fly if you wish to save your beloveds. _

_ But-_

_ If you tarry any longer, Eragon shall perish, now fly!_

The voice was gone. The world she did not know was gone returned, the rocking of the ship, the smell of the salt sea. Fírnen's presence reignited and he stirred sleepily.

_Arya… what, what happened? Why did you try to shut me out?_

He sounded betrayed, but she had not the time for a lengthy plea of forgiveness. _We have no time to tarry, Fírnen. Get ready to leave._

She grabbed Támerlein and her saddle, rushing out the door.

* * *

Frelsa paled. She had not expected someone to speak to them.

"Be quiet," Eragon instructed the voice as he concentrated on whatever spell he was weaving.

_Come now, Rider. We've been through this routine every month for what, sixty, seventy years? Drop the formalities, please._

The voice was calm, collected. But unlike any voice she had heard before, a certain lisp in it perhaps, like the voice was accented.

_Frelsa is it? And this dragon, Kalla? Beautiful names. Beautiful indeed. Do you want to know mine?_

"Hold your tongue!" Eragon commanded. She was not sure if he spoke to her or the voice.

_ So, Frelsa. How are you?_

The voice seemed too relaxed, as if feigning serenity. As if it anticipated something. She was not sure whether or not to answer.

_Trick question, I already know how you are. I already know how you were. I know everything about you. Every, little, secret._

_ Don't listen to him, Frelsa!_ Kalla warned.

_And you, Kalla. You think you are safe? Any of you? Eragon brought you here, where you are far from protected._

Eragon's features furrowed even more.

_He brought you here, to a being even he fears. He knew what havoc I could wreak on your lives, but still he brought you._

"Do _not_ listen to him!"

_He knows how dangerous it is here, before me. Yet he still brought you. Tell me why?_

She did not know an answer.

_At a loss? I shall tell you why._

"Speak not to her!"

_You know his secret don't you? You know how weak he actually is, how unstable his feet are. You have seen him at his weakest._

Frelsa did not bother denying.

_So you know how decrepit he is, and he still brought you to this hole. I wonder why?_

_ He was not of stable mind when he made the decision_, Kalla stated.

_Yes, perhaps, but that shows ever more so how dilapidated he is. A shadow of a leader, resorting to drink in his spare time._

_ Because of what you wrought on him and me!_ Saphira snarled.

_He brought you here_, the voice now addressed Kalla and Frelsa, _because he knew that you held his secret in your hands. A secret that could mean the fall of the Riders. A storm even the greatest of you cannot hold back. If you made a slip of the tongue then there would be panic. Mass panic. And the leader of the Riders cannot have that occurring on his watch now, can he?_

The light seemed muted, as if the world had turned grey.

_It is his duty to protect Alagaësia, at any cost, and ensure the integrity of civilisation. What better way to keep the secret in than to eliminate those who know it?_

It paused, giving the young Rider and her dragon time to fully comprehend his words. Eragon had brought them here in hopes that the Danger would destroy them?

"Pay no heed to this snake, Frelsa," Eragon reassured.

_Listen to him_, the voice hissed in her ear. _He is afraid that you have found out. That you know, and will be able to use that secret against him. He hopes I will destroy you._

"Silence!" Eragon shouted, the one word reverberating around the room.

But the voice seemed amused. _So… protective of her. Perhaps more than a student, a lover? No, you already have one don't you._

Saphira snarled.

_Excuse me, used to have. Such a strange occurrence, do you not agree? _

_ You had a hand in it, didn't you?_ Saphira accused.

_O-o-oh, I. Still. Do._

Eragon's eyes opened in shock. He murmured fearfully, "What have you done to her?"

_You really shouldn't lose concentration, Eragon. This is a very delicate part of the spell._

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?"

_So fierce. Nothing much, perhaps a whisper in the ear, goading someone to return to this island, goading another to do something… else._

_ If any harm comes to them_, Saphira warned.

_Oh harm will come to them._ The voice sounded almost gleeful._ That you cannot change. But I have saved up my powers for months, just for this moment, to show you two, Eragon and Saphira, the extent of my magic._

The surface of the grey sphere rippled and colours bloomed across the surface, like when Frelsa had made her fairth. But instead of forming a still picture, the colours swirled and formed moving figures, like a scrying glass.

A beautiful Elven woman, she recognised her as Arya, was dressed in a white nightgown, racing up the wooden steps of a large ship and emerging onto the deck. They saw the scene from a point above Arya's shoulder. She carried a saddle in one arm and was buckling a sword belt and a green sword onto her gown.

"C-Cease this image." Was Eragon actually scared of what he would see? His eyes could not leave the moving image.

_No._

The Big Green was stirring awake on the deck near the main mast. The only light was the light of the moon and stars and a few lanterns hanging at the corners of the ship. To the side a handsome male Elf reclined on a silk mat laden with candles and delectable dishes, mainly comprised of fruits. He shot to his feet the moment he laid eyes on Arya.

"My Queen! I had almost given up hope, but I knew you would partake in this meal with me!"

Arya waved him away. "I am sorry, Ilian, but there are matters that command my attention."

His face darkened slightly. "What sort of matters, My Queen?"

"Grave matters."

"Might they be connected to the island we have just departed?"

"How did you-"

He laid both his arms on the Queen's shoulders and held her firmly. "You cannot go."

_Arya. You said we have no time to tarry, yes? So let's go!_ Frelsa did not know how she could hear Big Green.

"Let go of me, Ilian, or I shall have you punished." She spoke this stone-faced, as if tired of this buffoon's jest.

"No!" A mad light came into his eyes. "He told me that this would happen, you would try to go back. But there's a trap about to be sprung, and I cannot let you be caught in it!"

"Ilian, if you trouble me any longer I shall have no choice but to get Fírnen to-"

Ilian's arm jerked forward. There was a sickly 'scchuk' sound and he held the Queen close. "If this is what I must do to ensure your safety, then so be it."

Arya staggered back and looked down. Embedded in her torso, was a dagger. Blood leaked slowly out of the wound, carving a path for itself down the pale white night gown.

Fírnen roared. _Fool!_ The dragon charged, each step shaking the deck and causing the ship's boards to creak suspiciously. The Elf merely pointed at the charging dragon and shouting, "Slytha!"

The beast inexplicably fell into a slumber, tumbling head over heels straight for the edge of the ship. Thankfully, Big Green slammed into the rigging which halted his progress. Several of the ropes snapped and the timbers holding some in place flew out, but the dragon bounced back onto the deck safely, his scales carving a thousand grooves in the wood.

Arya pulled out the knife which clattered to the floor. She held one hand over the wound and muttered a healing spell. Nothing happened, blood continued to flow.

"Ilian, this… this is treason."

"This is saving your life, My Queen. He told me." The Elf rushed forward to catch Arya as she fell backwards. "Do not worry, My Queen. He gave me strength to put Fírnen into a sleep and taught me to enchant this dagger and taught me how to stop the spell."

She struggled weakly in his embrace. "Ilian, do not assume you can murder your Queen and hope to survive the retribution brought upon you."

"No, no, no, He told me, He told me how to save you." Ilian spoke a spell whose wording was so long and complicated that its purpose escaped Frelsa. But still nothing happened to Arya's wound.

Ilian frowned and repeated the spell, carefully pronouncing every syllable. But still Arya lay dying in his arms.

"What? This… this is _not_ supposed to happen! You tricked me!" He yelled at the dark sky. "You told me she'd be safe!"

The image faded back to grey. Eragon stared numbly at the space where it had once been.

_Such sadness, my dear Eragon. You could save her you know. You have a multitude of spells in your arsenal, and there is one that can save her. One you know. _

He did not answer, just close his eyes.

_If you wish for her to live, you must go. Now. Forget the bonds, what use are they? I'll be free in a matter of time, so why bother? Go to your beloved._

Still no answer. Frelsa thought she spied a tear race down his cheek.

_Saphira, you must surely see some sense? If Arya is lost, what will become of Fírnen? He will fade, lose the will to live, and you will lose your first and only mate. _

Eragon and Saphira remained stoic.

_Think, Eragon!_ The voice was desperate now. _This will be your one chance to save Arya, do not was-_

Everything seemed to slow to a standstill. Eragon relinquished his grip on the sphere and Saphira hopped away.

_Yes… I knew that would work. _The voice did not sound soft any longer, hard and triumphant. _A single waver in strength and confidence. Thank you, Eragon._

The small circular panes that comprised the sphere began to whirr, filling the room with the mechanical noise. Saphira backed up. Eragon looked at Frelsa. "Run."

Kalla immediately turned towards the doors from which they had emerged, just to see them slam shut.

_Oh no, little dragon. I want you to witness my return. _

* * *

They broke through the wall of clouds.

Shepherd held on weakly to Errol. He was numb and cold from their flight through the clouds, and the spell was more costly to sustain than he had suspected. Each breathe now felt strained and laboured, but at least Drukjl, Dýrgrir and Errol seemed fine.

He would have loved the view if he was not feeling half dead. Huge plains of clouds forming fantastical shapes stretched out in either side, appearing almost blue in the starlight. The mountain rose up on their left, a huge dark behemoth, devoid of any snow despite the height. The reason was clear, patches of the volcano glowing like a furnace as lave flowed slowly down the sides before solidifying on its way down. There was an immaculate serenity up here, a world unblemished and with its most primal forces at work.

_Errol, this spell, I don't think I can keep it up._

_ Idiot! Should've told me!_

Immediately Shepherd felt a rush of energy from his dragon, renewing his strength and allowing him to sustain the spell for a while longer.

Drukjl and Dýrgrir were already circling the volcano, looking for the hole.

"Drukjl!" He called. The Urgal did not answer. Probably too far away.

_Ram! Found the tunnel that Ulualeluthuluk or whatever talked about?_

_ Nothing!_

They swooped in. What did she say? North-East? Or North-West?

_Just search the whole North face!_ Errol instructed.

They swooped around the side of the volcano, inspecting every fold of once molten rock for a tunnel. But their time was running out, and the search was going badly.

_Found it! No wait, that's a mound of lava. _

_ Shepherd, try and think before you open your mouth, please?_ Errol pleaded.

_Shut up._

Errol swooped around. Dýrgrir was nearly invisible in this light, the moonshine barely sparkling off his brown scales.

Shepherd glanced behind and saw the blue spark man reclining against one of Errol's tail spikes, hurriedly disappearing once he had been discovered.

The brown dragon spoke, _Uluthrek spoke of a tunnel, within a dimple?_

_ Yes._

_ I believe I may have found it._

Errol raced to join him. Indeed, near the summit, was a depression in the rock, and within that depression was a tunnel dropping straight down.

_So, Drukjl? _Shepherd asked.

_You sure it's right? Appears as a lava vent to me. _

Errol growled. _We've no time to waste. Kalla and Frelsa are down there nearing their 'doom' or whatever the fortune teller spoke of. I'll go in first with Shepherd. _

_ But what if it is a lava vent?_

_ Dragons are made of sterner stuff than you two-legs, and don't worry. I'll 'protect' you._

Errol backed up and began to tuck his wings in to dive down.

_You diving down that thing? _Shepherd asked in concern. He would much prefer walking down or something that would not risk his physical integrity.

_Dosen't look big enough to fly down normally._

_ Yeah but what if-_

Errol began his dive.

_Screw you, Errol!_

The wind whipped past Shepherd's face as he lay against Errol. The volcano face came up alarmingly fast.

Then, the sides of the hole drew together as smoothly as a dragon's jaws. The tunnel was gone, just a dimple left on the volcano face.

Errol hurriedly spread his wings, trying to halt his fall, but failed. Failure is actually an understatement, more of slammed straight into a pile of molten rock. Shepherd shouted in fear as tiny droplets of glowing red rock splattered around him, melting through his saddle. Thankfully, none of them touched his skin. The lava just seemed to slide off Errol's scales.

The grey dragon's head was buried in a pile of the burning stuff, completely submerged, and Shepherd was a little too close to the flowing rock for comfort.

_Uh, Errol? Mind getting up? My feet are about to be burnt to ashes so could you kindly get out NOW!_

Errol shrugged his whole body, threatening to make Shepherd slip off. He placed his forelimbs on the solid rock beneath the lava and pushed his body out, shaking his neck to dislodge any remaining particles.

_Argh, don't do that, Errol, you might ruin my handsome face. _

_ Handsome? Calling you handsome is like calling me a two-legs._

Dýrgrir flew over and hovered over them. _The tunnel? What happened?_

Errol took flight. Shepherd answered, _It just shut on its own. _

_ Uluthrek did say that we had only an hour to find and use the tunnel_, Drukjl pointed out.

But they could not have taken _that_ long, did they? The trip must have been quite short at the speed they had flown at.

_We can't have failed. We can't._

* * *

The panes began whirring like gears, each one turning another. They spun so fast and began to move across the surface of the sphere.

"Frelsa, I can stall him for a few moments, you must make for the opening at the top. It leads to a side vent that opens every few hours, hopefully it will still be."

The sphere began to glow with heat.

"Y-Yes Ebrithil."

"Now go!"

Frelsa wrapped her arms around the spike in front of her and held on as Kalla made a near vertical flight up. But they'd barely risen a few metres before a force seemed to anchor Kalla to the ground, preventing her from straying too far.

_Why do you want to leave? You cannot escape fate._

The force strengthened and yanked the green dragon back to the ground.

The sphere was no longer grey, now a white hot luminescent sun. The panes were so fast that they were a blur.

Eragon drew Brisingr and readied himself. Seeing no other option, Frelsa too drew her sword, and held Delswoir with trembling hands.

"Frelsa," Eragon began, "just-"

The sphere exploded. There was no loud flash, no burst of fire, just a booming 'whoosh' and the panes upon it flew outwards. One struck Frelsa above her right eye, the hot metal branding her skin.

A great light poured out from where the sphere had been. Not the soft, supple rays of the setting sun, this light was harsh, too bright and strong.

Frelsa did not dare look upon the light lest she be blinded, daring only to raise Delswoir and point it towards whatever danger lay within.

She heard a footstep, then another.

"Stay back, Monster!"

A hand reached out and gently brushed aside the green blade.

"Monster? Is that what they call us now?"

* * *

8-12-13

Sorry people that this chapter's coming so late, been very busy. Sadly, even the great coffee could not spur me to write at my usual standard. Wasn't able to make a 9'000, only managed a 6, unfortunately. I'll be on holiday the next week or so so chapter 7 will be coming late as well.


	7. Do Ut Des

Ilian lowered Arya's weak body to the deck, gently propping her head on a nearby coil of rope. He spluttered through his sobs, "I-I'm sorry, My Queen. I'm sorry…"

It had been so easy, just a quick knife thrust. The dagger had sheared through each and every one of her wards like a hot knife through cool butter. She glanced down at the dark stain on her white gown.

She tried to summon magic to heal herself again, but it was to no avail.

"He told me, He lied to me, He…He…"

Arya turned her head with difficulty and saw Fírnen lying immobile on the deck, fast asleep. His green scales seemed pale and cast a doleful light.

_Fírnen…_

She reached out weakly to him, for comfort in her last moments at least.

"F-F-Forgive me, My Queen, I was… was a f-fool."

She wanted to say that he was but she knew she had been foolish as well of late.

Strangely, she did not feel as panicked as she assumed she would have been. A strange calm washed over her. No more responsibilities. No more kingdom to rule, no more politics. Just her, free for the first time in her life from the constraints of royalty. At least for a few minutes.

A flare of pain shot up from the wound. Make that a few seconds.

One of Ilian's tears fell upon her face. He got up and held the knife in his right hand, clenching his fist so hard that the skin on his knuckles seemed to have disappeared, replaced by pale, white bone. His sorrow was heart wrenching to her. He might have been a jester who made a royal fool of himself, but he was familiar to her. Where smiles and cheerful brightness had once caressed that Elven face was now a face torn apart by misery and guilt.

"I'm so sorry."

He shuffled over to the deck, mumbling to himself like a prayer, "He tricked me… I'm so sorry… He tricked me… I'm so sorry…"

The Elf had faded to nothing but a dark shadow against the rails. The shadow raised a hand wielding a dagger to his neck.

Ilian's silhouette was still for a while, before slumping over the rails and falling to the water below. A splash soon reached her ears. All that was left of Ilian was now a bloodied dagger that clattered against the side of the ship. She knew she should be glad he was dead, but she just felt sadness for him.

Arya coughed, the movement sending more pain shooting up. She scrabbled at the hard wood, trying to claw her way to Fírnen. She needed him at her side, now more than ever.

Should she try and save herself? For Fírnen's sake at least? She knew what damage the loss of her life could do to him. She remembered Glaedr just after Oromis' death. So sad was he, so sad. Wishing he could die to join his Rider in death. This thought gave her new resolution, and her mind seemed to come into focus. She could not die now, for Fírnen's sake.

Arya placed her palm on the dagger wound, where the slender hand immediately became submerged in a pool of warm blood.

"Waíse heill."

Nothing. Truthfully, she had not expected that one to work. If the blade _was_ enchanted then it would take a much wordier spell to heal the wound.

"Ramvíen thornessa goröth un waíse heill…"

Still nothing. There was not any more pain, which would have been a good thing if more blood had not started leaking out. Numbness started to spread from the wound. So that one did not work either.

Arya frowned. She had never taken much interest in healing, and it seemed that it would now be her downfall. She started conjuring up as many spells she could, invoking the removal of the curse, the replication of flesh and blood, and the creation of a new abdomen among others. All failed.

Her breathing was growing ragged. It was hard to take in air, each breathe seeming to stretch her ribs to breaking point. She coughed again, and dark lines splattered forth and stained the wood before her. Coughing blood? That could not be good.

She fell backwards.

_I'm sorry Fírnen…_

* * *

Frelsa pressed her eyes into her sleeve to avoid being blinded by the burning light. Something held Delswoir aside firmly but gently. Kalla had placed her paws over her eyes to protect them. Seems even dragons have limits.

"No need to fear, child. Not yet, at least."

The light seemed to fade, until it was returned to its regular golden hue, but compared to the nova just moments before, this bright light was almost like darkness.

"Look up, Frelsa. Kalla. Be the first to witness my glorious resurrection."

She still did not dare to raise her eyes from her sleeve.

"Look, children."

She tried to strike with Delswoir but the force held her sword away firmly.

"I said look at me!"

The voice had lost its gentleness, now harsh and with an undertone of insanity. Frelsa did not dare disobey and peeked up.

Her first impression, grey. Something large and grey dominated her view, blocking all other things in the room. Her vision began to come into focus, and realised with amazement that the grey thing was a man. At least it looked like one.

He was tall, very tall, at least nine or ten feet tall, as tall as the greatest Kull. None of his features were visible, indeed no part of him was visible. He was a maelstrom of grey power, swirling like a twister, adopting a roughly humanoid figure. Parts of him seemed to come into focus now and then, sections of the grey twister condensing into solid body parts, a grey arm, a dark leg. Then there were his eyes. Two spotlights of gold in the grey tornado, pure gold. The golden eyes were visible from all directions through his tempest like head so it seemed that he was looking at you no matter where you were. Those two shining lights upon his twisting head seemed the only definite part of him, the only part that did not change, you know, besides the air of impending doom.

"You look upon me at last." He, because the being was most definitely a 'he' by the voice, had an even more pronounced accent and lisp in person.

The being was not as epic as she had thought the Danger would be, but epic enough. She did not dare say a word in the presence of this creature.

Kalla uncovered her eyes and recoiled from this giant before her. She struck, sinking her jaws into the being's legs, but her sharp teeth passed straight through the maelstrom, before her head was sent flying back.

_Get back, you beast!_ Kalla snarled as she hopped back.

"Beast?" The being rose to his feet and turned his back to them. His voice was identical to the mental one he had projected earlier. "Monster and beast we are now…"

His voice sounded doleful and wistful. "Once upon a time, I was a God."

The being turned back to them, his eyes slanted with hate. "And I shall be again."

Eragon and Saphira were on the other side of the room. "Get away from her!"

"Ah, Eragon!" He spoke as if addressing an old friend. "You behold me at-"

The being looked up at the ceiling far above.

"Isnýt Ykona fierl," he spat out in the Ancient Language. She knew enough to understand its meaning. 'Insolent little girl.' Somehow Frelsa knew he was not referring to her. He reverted back to Common. "Might I ask what are the names of the Urgal, the human and their two dragons, grey and brown, who are currently trying to gain access to this chamber?"

Eragon's eyes widened, but he remained silent. Frelsa however, immediately blurted out in wonder, "Shepherd and Drukjl are alive?"

She clamped her hands over her mouth.

"So those are their names. It seems they have discovered the back door, and would have gained entry."

She smiled secretly to herself and spoke to Kalla, _You hear that? They're coming!_

_ Oh woo hoo, cavalry to the rescue. Trust me, with them, something's bound to screw up._

"'Would have'," the being repeated. "If not for the doors 'mysteriously' closing just seconds ago."

_Told you._

* * *

_This can't be it, this can't be it!_

Errol was swooping in and slamming against where the tunnel had been, raking his claws over the hard rock and carving lines in the stone. Which would have been fine with Shepherd if he had not been riding Errol as he attacked the volcano face.

_Slow down, Errol!_

_ Shut up, Shepherd! This can't be it, this can't be it!_

* * *

"They are brave, but weak."

Saphira had staggered to her feet, Eragon readying Brisingr atop her back. They were their last hope now.

"I could leave now, leave to exact my vengeance upon the Riders and all who scorned mine and mine race. But that's no fun."

The way he said fun betrayed a madness underneath. A madness that this creature knew was there, and enjoyed it.

"I swear, if you harm any one of them-" Eragon began.

"You'll lay down and die for me?" The being turned to Eragon and Saphira. "Come now, Rider. How can you hope to best me?"

Frelsa waited for some curt retort from her master, a secret power or revelation that could mean the defeat of this thing. But none came.

Eragon slumped in his seat and Brisingr seemed to grow heavier in his hands.

"Exactly. Now let's make this a bit more interesting hmmm?"

The being reached down and touched the floor, the golden pinpoints that were his eyes disappearing for a moment.

* * *

_Errol, stop!_ Dýrgrir pleaded.

Shepherd rocked violently in his perch as his dragon tried to reopen the tunnel with tooth and claw. It was all he could do not to get his face impaled on the spike in front of him as he tipped back and forth.

_No! I have… have to! _Errol roared back.

A chip of rock flew out and struck Shepherd on the arm, drawing blood.

_Errol, stop!_

No answer this time, just more gouges in the rock. Shepherd was beginning to agree with Dýrgrir as a pebble flew overhead as fast as an arrow.

_Errol, this isn't the same as back at the healer's!_ Shepherd said. _We need to-_

_ Leave?_ Errol asked accusingly, like the very thought was unbearable.

Dýrgrir swooped in and tackled Errol, sending both Errol and Shepherd careening to one side.

He swung in mid-air to face Dýrgrir. _Die!_

_ Silence, Firebreather!_ Drukjl commanded.

Errol reared back to dive forward, before Dýrgrir silenced him. _Can't you feel it?_

_ Feel what?_

_ Just stay still for a moment. I thought it was your attacks on the tunnel but now…_

Shepherd settled into his seat and listened for whatever Dýrgrir spoke of. There was a deep, rumbling, like the sound of faraway lightning.

_What is that?_

The patches of fiery molten rock on the volcano face seemed to grow brighter.

_Please tell me this is not what I think it is…_ Shepherd said.

_It's not what you think it is_, Drukjl responded. _It's much worse._

* * *

The ground and walls seemed to glow brighter. Kalla shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"They should never have come here," The Danger said in a forboding voice.

A tremor passed through the ground, making Frelsa's teeth rattle and her bones shake.

_Kalla? What's going on…?_

_ You tell me._

She glanced at their masters. Saphira answered, _The Mountain has learned to breathe fire yet again._

* * *

The first rock came down like a catapult's missile. A black blur that shot down past them and down into the clouds.

Shepherd stared at where the white wall had swallowed it up.

_That, _cannot_ be good._

_ Definitely not_, Errol agreed.

The second rock flew out into the sky, this one leaving behind a trail of smoke. It rose from the apex of the volcano and flew down the South face, leaving a dark line of noxious black smoke behind it.

_Aw shit._

The rocks started coming out like a legion of ballistae and catapults were within the volcano, lobbing rocks at the Riders outside. Many of them trailed black fumes. Errol swooped to one side then dived down before rising up to avoid the projectiles.

A huge rumble resonated from the volcano, before it blew itself apart. The entire North face shattered, crumbling into pieces like an egg and revealing the deadly glowing yolk underneath, a lake of lava which flowed down the side of the mountain. The egg shell submerged within the yolk and became a part of it. Huge clouds of noxious black ash rose from the shatter point and spread out across the sky, blotting out the moon.

* * *

The Danger cocked his head as he knelt over the ground. "Seems a tad unfair to just kill your friends like that."

Frelsa paled. Kill? He spoke of it like how she had seen men order beers at bars.

"I think I'll give them a sporting chance."

There was a sharp cracking noise and she looked up. Several large objects were falling through the tall chamber, chunks of marble the size of Kalla or larger. She glanced up and saw far above, where the ceiling should be, was a wall of ash. It covered the top of the chamber. One of the falling chunks of ceiling struck the being on the back and his concentration lapsed for a moment.

Eragon took the chance and raised Brisingr up high as Saphira roared, the pair charging the Danger who still kneeled on the floor. The blue dragon flapped once to give herself a boost and fell upon the crouched figure.

He stabbed Brisingr into the Danger's back. "Go, Frelsa! Go while you can!"

Kalla took off, before the Danger reached out one grey hand of twisting energy that coalesced into a claw like grip of flesh and blood for a moment before reverting. "Don't run away now, little mortals."

He brought his tempest hand down and Kalla was flung to earth, landing on her side. This unfortunately meant that she trapped her Rider's leg under her.

Frelsa screamed until her throat grew hoarse. The leg pressed under Kalla's body felt as if it had been held over the furnace for a few hours while simultaneously being crushed under Hothgeir's anvil.

_Oh gods! Sorry, Frelsa, sorry, sorry, sorry…_

Kalla scrambled to her feet. Frelsa cursed as she gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut. She grasped the side of her leg with one hand and spat out the healing spell. Burning hell was soon replaced by a cool wind. She sighed in relief. _Well, now we know we can't go out._

Eragon had somehow undone all the straps that kept his legs attached to Saphira, and was now behind the Danger, hanging onto the being with one hand wrapped around his neck as he tried to thrust Brisingr into his neck. Somehow Eragon did not just pass through the being's body, able to find a firm grip on it. Eragon was a tall man, but next to the Danger he seemed rather diminutive. The Danger was obviously powerful, wrestling with Saphira herself, somehow able to hold back the giant dragon with only his hands.

_What do we do, Frelsa?_ Kalla asked. _Fight or fly?_

Frelsa thought of Shepherd and Drukjl, Errol and Dýrgrir. How they were looking for her at the very moment. How they could be dead at the very moment. She glared at the Danger in hate.

She drew Delswoir and snarled, _There's only one option left at this point._

* * *

Errol swooped again as a chunk of black stone the size of Shepherd's quarters flew by. _Come on, Errol, we have to go!_

_ Wait… just, wait for a while. I see something!_

_ No time, Firebreather!_ Drukjl stated as Dýrgrir was nearly knocked out of the sky by a rain of rock.

_No! Look, see?_

Shepherd cried out in pain as something seared itself into his arm, a tiny black rock the size of a coin. He removed the projectile and healed himself. _What is it, Errol? We can't wait around!_

_ Just wait! Look, there, through the ash. _

Shepherd looked hard, trying to ignore the burning as ash went into his eyes and made them agitated them. He rubbed his eyes and realised how puffy and red they must be by now.

_What is it, Errol?_ He asked impatiently. _There's nothing._

_ No!_ This time it was unexpectedly from Dýrgrir. _Errol is correct. There is light there._

Shepherd squinted into the dark clouds of smog. Nothing but blackness, deep, dark shadow. He was about to speak out when he realised that there _was_ light. A tiny pinprick of gold in the dark. Was he going crazy?

_Is that…_

_ Light? About time you saw it, Shepherd._

The ash over the light seemed to part just a little bit wider and they saw a definite wall of gold there, before the ash swallowed it completely again.

_Shepherd!_ Drukjl called. _We must go or die here!_

_ Agreed, Ram. Come on, Errol. We _have _to leave and warn the rest of the Riders._

_I have a better idea._

_ Oh I hate your ideas._

Errol tucked in his wings and made a beeline straight for where the light had been.

* * *

Kalla charged forward, roaring. The Danger pulled Eragon off, flinging him to one side, and kicked Saphira like a mangy mutt. He turned to face the green dragon and her Rider atop her back charging recklessly at him. The creature cocked its head at them, before the tempest of his body expanded and the boundaries of it growing more indistinct. Kalla charged still, opening her jaws to clamp around the nearest body part she found, before dragon and Rider tumbled through where the Danger should have been.

They slid to a stop on the other side of the creature, whose essence drew together and formed a whole again.

Eragon got to his feet and ran across the marble floor. Frelsa winced, remembering how hot the ground had been for her. Saphira leaped from the opposite side of the room, fangs bared.

"Ha ha! It has been a long time since I broke beings of your calibre!" The Danger spoke as if this was but a game to him.

Eragon sliced at the Danger's leg, which vaporised before contact and reformed after. He stabbed Brisingr immediately at his target's abdomen, where a hole opened up to let the sword pass through. Eragon rolled under the tempest's legs and joined Saphira, swinging up onto the saddle.

The dragon roared at him, to which the tempest replied, "Oh, the big dragon wants to hurt me! Whatever shall I do?"

Saphira roared again and let loose a torrent of sapphire flames that would have incinerated any living being. Even Frelsa, maybe ten or twelve metres away, flinched from the heat while Kalla looked in wide eyed admiration.

The Danger was gone, the marble and gold ground beneath blackened with flame, thin trails of smoke curling up from the point of contact. Kalla advanced and sniffed the ground cautiously. _Is it… gone?_

_ I would not assume so_, Saphira warned.

"And you are right not to." The voice seemed to come from all around them. It laughed dementedly. "What will you do now? How will you defeat me when you cannot strike me?"

A chunk of marble fell from the ceiling again. Frelsa looked up and saw far above, a wall of ash, same as before. A few small black rocks fell down to them. But what really caught her attention was the screaming. And the roars. Very familiar screams and roars. She was almost afraid to ask.

_Shepherd? Drukjl?_

* * *

Dýrgrir roared after them. _You idiot dragon!_

_ Just follow me!_

They vanished into the ash. Shepherd thought the clouds had been dark. This was a whole new world, a whole new spectrum of suckiness. Thankfully his spell was keeping the ash out of their air but the cost to upkeep it grew exponentially. Sieving out ash from air was a lot harder that he had thought.

_Errol! You know where you're going?_ Shepherd asked in fear.

_I have no idea!_ Very comforting.

They flew through the ash, Errol occasionally snarling as a burning black rock struck his body. They heard a roar which undoubtedly belonged to Dýrgrir. At least they knew Drukjl was following them. He soon realised it was the other way around.

Errol collided with something big, scaly, brown and angry, and with a displeased Urgal on his saddle. Dýrgrir roared at them as they careened into open space,_ Errol! What kind of flying was that?_

_ Hey, why were you in front of me? I said 'follow' me!_

_ Oh sure, that is extremely easy to accomplish in a cloud of ash!_

_ Shut up!_ Drukjl commanded.

Errol roared in pain as he collided with another large object. _Dýrgrir! Stop flying into me!_

_ Stop blaming me for your horrible flying skills, Drajl!_

_ Calm down guys, Errol, can you see what you hit?_ Shepherd asked.

_It's just a stupid… wall?_

Shepherd's mouth fell open as he beheld the source of the light they had seen earlier. A wall, made of gilded ivory and pearly marble. The very stone and metal seemed to produce a heavenly light. The fumes and clouds of ash did not encroach upon this area, as if knowing that they were unable to pervade this sanctuary. How it had appeared there was a mystery to him.

_Am I dead or something, because I think I'm seeing...?_

_ Seeing it too_, Errol said.

He looked around and realised that that wall was one side of a cylindrical chamber, the floor of which was thousands of metres below them in the heart of the volcano. Four large statues ringed the chamber but he did not bother to inspect them. The patch of stone Errol collided into began to detach itself from the mass and fell to the luminescent floor far below.

A roar reached their ears. An echoing roar of some great dragon, that undoubtedly came from below. Shepherd twisted on Errol's back and looked over the side. On the floor far below were tiny, indistinct figures moving around, a small grey speck, another green one and a smudge of iridescent blue.

_Got them, Ram! They're below!_

_ I see._

Errol began to tuck in his wings again.

_Uh, can you just do a soft spiral down?_ Shepherd asked.

_Sorry, can't hear you, gotta save them now._

_ You like doing this to me don't you?_

* * *

Frelsa looked dumbly towards the ceiling. They had actually found her.

Shepherd was screaming like a child who had just been punished, Dýrgrir followed Errol down just as quickly.

"Truthfully I did not think they would have made it."

Frelsa turned to the source of the voice. The Danger was sitting on one of the large rocks that had fallen from above. The huge grey tempesty giant reclined on his rock. "I mean, even with my aid in shattering the ceiling, those mortals are _quite_ foolish."

She wanted to agree with him.

"Anyway, back to business yes?" He slid off the rock and started casually strolling towards them. "This chamber is quite tall and they've still a long way to go to reach us. More than enough time to break all of you."

His twisting body dematerialised again, reforming in an instant in front of Eragon. Saphira slashed at him with her claws, which passed straight through the Danger. Her Rider slashed Brisingr through the being before him, a strike that would have cleaved a Kull from shoulder to waist, but the blade simply swept through the mist like essence.

Kalla lunged forward and Frelsa swung Delswoir in unison with her dragon. The green blade passed through her target's chest but a section of the being's back condensed into sickly grey flesh for a momentm, allowing Kalla to latch onto it with her teeth.

He bellowed with pain, the noise seeming even louder than Saphira's roars, and swatted aside Kalla like a fly. The impact knocked Frelsa off her dragon, and she cried out in pain as her skin connected with the ground. She snatched up Delswoir off the ground and almost wanted to drop it, holding the hilt felt like she was holding a hot coal, but she resisted. Her hands were already a burnt mess anyway. Frelsa got to her feet, but the weight on them just intensified the pain. Kalla was lying belly up and immobile, but this did not bother her as much as it should. Mainly because she was preoccupied with her feet that seemed to be melting. Frelsa saw that there was a ceiling chunk nearby and scrambled up onto it, wincing as her burnt skin came into contact with the rough stone. She hurriedly healed her burns and saw Kalla was beginning to scramble to her feet.

* * *

Shepherd was sure that he would die before they reached the ground. Diving straight down on your dragon is dangerous enough, when you did not have a proper saddle it was a death sentence. He felt his body nearly slip off his seat and into open air about four times already, wait… make that five.

The tiny shapes became clearer, definitely Saphira and Kalla. The grey shape seemed like a grey tornado was trying to masquerade as a human. Saphira was right in front of the big grey giant, trying to slash and bite it but her attacks seemed to have no effect. He saw a tiny figure on her back, Eragon probably, slashing his blue blade at the tornado man, similarly useless. Kalla, with another tiny figure on her back which should be Frelsa, lunged forward and the tornado man roared in pain, the sound ringing in his ears long after it ended.

_Errol! Mind pulling up a bit? I don't fancy falling the rest of the way._

_ Don't worry, I might be able to catch you. Might._

He did not dare turn to look behind to check on Drukjl at their speed but a quick mental probe sufficed. Dýrgrir was diving down as quickly as Errol was, the Ram safe on his back.

As they neared, Shepherd realised just how big Tornado Man was. He rose taller than the largest Kull he had ever seen, the big grey giant must be ten feet tall at least! He swatted Kalla aside and she flew across the room. The little figure on her back fell off and scrambled onto a chunk or rock that had fallen from above. Errol saw Kalla's limp body and roared in fury, the bubbling pit of anger that had materialised within him pervading Shepherd's own mind. Errol roared again, _Prepare to die!_

Errol dived down even further, so close to the ground that Shepherd could see the individual veins within the marble, then the dragon spread his wings and swooped up and towards Tornado Man with claws outstretched. At their speed there would two possible outcomes, one: they pick up Tornado Man and send him flying to the far side of this tube chamber, two: Tornado Man proves to be too fat to be sent flying and Errol and Shepherd become a dragon and Rider flatcake on his body.

The result proved to be neither. The Danger turned towards them and looked up at them with eyes of pure gold. He disappeared. It actually seemed more like dissipating into tiny wisps of Tornado Man. Shepherd sensed the confusion from Errol as he grasped air in his claws. The dragon spread his wings and flapped frantically, trying to halt their crash course straight for the far wall.

They slowed to a standstill and Shepherd glanced behind. He saw Tornado Man was back, facing off with Saphira and Eragon again. He noticed that their attacks were indeed having no effects because pathways for Brisingr or Saphira's claws and teeth opened up within Tornado Man's body, allowing the weapons to pass through harmlessly. Dýrgrir and Drukjl struck, falling like a stone from above the grey giant. They were probably aiming to latch onto their target's back and land a few blows, but he dissipated again, allowing Dýrgrir to fall through open air and land rather heavily on the hard ground.

He looked at Frelsa, trying to find some purchase on the chunk of rock she was taking refuge on. He wondered why she did not just drop to the ground.

"We late to the party?" He called.

"What does it look like?" She replied. Frelsa sounded joyful, or maybe just in awe of his good looks as usual.

"Mind telling us what this party is for?" Drukjl added as he turned in all directions, looking for Tornado Man.

_Long story_. Kalla began to crawl shakily to her feet.

_Kalla! Are you-_ Errol began.

_I'm fine, Grey Head. Just focus on the Big Evil Thing._

"You mean myself?" A voice mockingly asked.

* * *

The Danger had reappeared in the centre of the chamber, appearing as if he was inspecting non-existent dirt under his non-existent fingernails. Dýrgrir and Drukjl roared in unison at him, then the dragon leapt forth with fangs bared, the Urgal on his back waving his axe intimidatingly, before they were thrown into the air. More specifically, thrown into the air towards Shepherd and Errol. All four of them tumbled to the ground, where they promptly discovered its burning qualities. Kalla bounded towards her Rider marooned on her rock.

Eragon stabbed Brisingr at his target, which passed through as usual. But when he tried to draw it out the grey storm closed over the wound area. Eragon grunted and pulled back on his sword again, which did not budge. The Danger raised one arm leisurely, and grasped the crossguard of the shining blue sword.

Eragon struggled to retrieve his sword, Saphira continuously tried to bite down or wound the Danger through any means but her attacks simply phased through her target. The huge being placed his other hand on the sword and began to pull it towards him. The huge creature easily took Brisingr for his own, yanking it from Eragon's grasp.

The Danger held the sword up to the light to inspect it for a moment, his golden eyes morphing to slits, then swung it down at Eragon.

The blade was a sapphire arc, flying towards its former wielder. Brisingr halted a few inches above Eragon's shoulder for a moment, probably halted by his innumerable wards, before the blade continued on its path, forging through Eragon and Saphira's flesh alike, shearing through magic and dragon scale.

Eragon looked down at the tear in his tunic that spread from the tip of his right shoulder to the left side of his waist, then continuing in the form of a red tear that carved through blue scales down Saphira's side and through her wing, severing the slender bones beneath the blue membrane and causing them to hang slackly. Just as blood began to spill from his wound and stain his tunic Eragon held a hand over his wound and Saphira's and muttered a healing spell.

The Danger's eyes slanted in fury at this sight and bellowed a spell in a voice so deep that the wording for the incantation was all but hidden. The wounds failed to heal, blood continued to spill down tunic and scale.

The grey giant shook with anger and his body seemed to be less of a tempest now, more like a shadow. "You seek to use my people's creation against me? Such blasphemy!"

The grey shadow swept one hand across his own being and dissipated once more, Brisingr clattering to the ground, giving Frelsa an unobstructed view of her Masters bleeding out before her. Eragon cast a serene gaze at her, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward.

Frelsa stared in shock at Eragon as he sat limp in his saddle, held in place only by the saddle straps. Saphira staggered forth lethargically, barely able to keep herself conscious. Kalla had arrived at Frelsa's rock. _Come on!_

She stared in shock at her Masters, and it took a few more calls from Kalla to wake her from her stupor. Frelsa slid off the rock and onto Kalla's back, in her daze nearly impaling herself on one of the dragon's ivory spikes.

"Sorry about that, I was just a teensy bit upset at his show."

The Danger materialised again, leaning against the wall behind Saphira. He had reverted to his tempest-like form. "Such a shame to see good warriors go. If only they had been like me, they would have been heroes in my time, but I digress. The show must go on."

He stepped over Saphira's tail, which she still swung meekly in an effort to slow down the Danger. He looked straight at Frelsa. "As always, ladies first, yes?"

_Let's kill this bastard,_ Kalla snarled, the anger within her a visible, tangible thing.

_Couldn't agree more,_ Frelsa snarled back. She was all set to charge in, not caring what happened to her, just wishing for revenge, when she heard a clink.

* * *

_Shepherd?_

Shepherd had landed several metres away from Errol so it had taken a series of humorous hops across the scorching ground to reach his dragon. He knew now why Frelsa had not left her rock chunk.

He had just mounted Errol when he saw Eragon and Saphira as they were cleaved by the Tornado Man. Eragon sat immobile while Saphira still struggled weakly. But what was horrifying was the blood. Human mixed with Dragon, completely drenching Eragon's tunic, flowing down like a river over Saphira's scales. The blood collected into a pool beneath the blue dragon where it began bubbling from the heat of the ground.

Shepherd looked at his fallen Master in shock. It couldn't be. This was the Kingkiller, and the Sapphire Radiance, the leaders of the Riders. How could they just be slain by one blow?

"Shepherd!"

The Urgal's shout brought him to reality.

"Wh-What is it?" He asked meekly.

"Shepherd, find yourself! We have time to mourn later!"

"Time to… time to mourn?"

"Yes, time to mourn. So find yourself again and let's slay this beast."

_Did you hear that?_ Dýrgrir asked.

Shepherd listened intently. "Uh, what?"

_A clinking. Like metal against stone, wait there it is!_

Shepherd definitely heard it this time. "What is it?" Drukjl asked.

Errol jerked his head at something on the ground. _Those._

Shepherd looked down. He did not know why he had not noticed it before, the ground was scattered with panes of some greyish material, as alien as Tornado Man in this ivory and gold paradise. Some of them were as small as rings, others as large as Saphira's head. Whenever Tornado Man stepped on one it would make a small clink, but why?

He continued on his foreboding march towards Frelsa. Errol growled. _Come on, Shepherd!_

_ Wait a moment!_

_What is it? He's going to kill Kalla!_

Shepherd begged him to wait a while. Why would the panes clink under Tornado Man's feet? He saw the grey giant phase straight through a chunk of rock. He could go straight through anything he wanted without a second though, so why not the panes of grey? Another clink. Maybe it was just because he did not bother dissipating through it. Maybe because he could not.

_Errol! Pick up one of those grey plates for me will you?_

_Shepherd! We have no time for this!_ Drukjl scolded.

_Maybe… maybe we do._ Errol muttered. Shepherd could sense he was beginning to catch on. The grey dragon picked up one of the panes in his mouth and twisted his neck around as much as possible to hand it to his Rider.

_This better be something worthy._ Drukjl said.

_Oh it is, Ram._ The excitement was building up now.

He accepted the pane from his dragon, a relatively small sized piece only a metre or so in diameter. The material was surprisingly cool to the touch. He held it at eye level so that the grey giant was smack in the centre of the pane. The giant was only a few strides away from Frelsa and Kalla now, who had begun charging towards their target.

He hoped this worked. "Gánga!"

* * *

She was right before the giant, his grey tornado of a body looming before her, dark arms outstretched to embrace her in a death grip. Kalla roared beneath her, Frelsa snarled at the Danger. Delswoir felt right in her hands, Kalla's presence felt right beneath her. And she knew it would feel right to kill this thing. But what was not right was the 'thunk!' sound and the Danger saying, "Ow!"

Kalla and her looked in amazement as the giant stumbled back, holding one hand to the side of his head, his golden eyes shut in pain and what seemed like a grey disc flying away. Frelsa realised that it was one of the many grey panes that had been spread across the chamber when the sphere had exploded.

"What the…"

Another disc shot forth, this one slightly larger. It connected with the being's hand that was pressed against the side of his head, to which the Danger cried out in pain. Frelsa turned and saw Drukjl and Shepherd, both already picking up another pane and getting ready to send it forth.

_Why don't they just pass through his body?_ Frelsa wondered to both herself and Kalla.

_Wait… his prison was made with these right?_ Kalla picked up the nearest pane with her teeth, one half a metre in length. _And he was unable to escape his prison easily._

_ So that means that against these things_, Frelsa mused as she accepted the projectile from her dragon.

_He's defenceless,_ Kalla completed.

She held the pane up to her mouth, grasped her mental kite, and whispered, "Jierda mägr aevin."

'Hit many times.' Apparently it worked, the projectile flying true like an arrow and nailing the Danger on the chest, then on the shoulder, then on the forehead. And thankfully, the energy taken to upkeep the spell was small, a result of how light the panes were.

Drukjl eventually decided to not use spells to send his panes forth after the first few flew wide, opting instead to just throw them himself. They were by no means less deadly.

The Danger snarled and bellowed at them, before they were silenced by another grey missile. The dragons would leap around the chamber, picking up choice discs or panes and handing them to the Riders who could not reach them, then they would send them flying at the Danger. The giant kept on trying to dissipate, but a grey disc would strike a part of him and he would return to form. And he was obviously not pleased.

"Stop, I will not be- argh! - subjected to- ow! - such embarrassing treatment!"

One pane flew far above his head and this gave a short enough window for him to enact his vengeance. His golden eyes flared to the intensity of the Sun, his tempest body formed once again into a grey silhouette.

"Stop!"

A shockwave spread out from him, a visible wave of energy and force that distorted the air as it spread out from him. The wave sent the dragons and their Riders flying to the far ends of the room.

When her head stopped spinning, Frelsa was still on Kalla, thankfully upright and not against the ground. All the panes seemed to have gone. The Danger composed himself. "That was rather unpleasant. You all do not seem to understand how this goes, you will _try_ and defeat me, emphasis on _try_, and _fail_, after which I slay you all-"

The Danger's eyes widened in shock as a huge pane, six metres across at least, struck him from behind. His golden eyes slid shut and he sank to his knees and took form as a pile of grey mist.

"About time."

Standing behind him was Saphira, and Eragon on her back.

* * *

He retained that one image of bravado for a moment, before he slumped forward in his saddle again. Frelsa and Kalla rushed forward to help their masters. Shepherd and Drukjl just stared in shock.

_Our Masters have a strong fire within them,_ Kalla remarked.

Frelsa did not need to reply.

Dýrgrir edged forth cautiously and batted at the pile of mist. His claws went straight through the grey smoke. Kalla went up right alongside Saphira and Frelsa leaned over to help Eragon straighten up.

"Thank you, Frelsa," Eragon winced. His entire tunic was little more than torn rags soaked and dripping with blood. His skin was a deathly pale pallor. Kalla bent her knees and used her body to try and support Saphira, whose scales seemed crimson instead of blue.

Errol inched forth slightly. _We can heal you, Ebrithil, just stay still._

_No, _was Saphira's simply reply.

They were all taken aback. Shepherd asked,"No?"

_No,_ she reaffirmed._ There is no healing for these wounds of ours._

"Don't worry, Dur Firetongue. We shall heal you." Drukjl sounded just as absolute.

"No, Drukjl." Eragon sounded infinitely more peaceful than he had ever heard him to be. His face seemed just like how it would be on a peaceful day at the sparring field, giving them a lesson, despite how pale it was. "The magic worked upon us, even we cannot break it."

"We will help you. If the all of us work together, we could support Saphira out of this chamber," Shepherd suggested. Frelsa could tell that even he thought it was a far-fetched idea. Saphira was just too large for them, even with magic, to carry out of the tall chamber.

"And would you then carry us through the ash clouds, across the ruined island and to the mainland across the sea? No, we… must stay." Eragon gave a cough and strings of blood splattered against Saphira's neck.

"Don't listen to yourself, Ebrithil, it is the blood loss speaking," Frelsa said.

"No." He gently pushed aside Frelsa, managing to sit somewhat straight in his saddle on his own. The bloody gouge in his tunic and flesh was nearly invisible now that his entire tunic seemed a mass of blood rags. Saphira's eyelids were half closed, her body begging to shut down. She had never seen a dragon lose that much blood and survive before. Or even a dragon lose that much blood at all. A trickle of blood trailed down from the corner of Eragon's mouth.

"We must stay, and keep the Danger subdued while you escape."

_That path only brings death_, Dýrgrir reminded.

_We will stay and fight with you!_ Errol said.

_Brave, brave little ones._ Saphira nuzzled them tenderly with a blood slick snout. _If you stay with us, you will die with us. If we went with you, he would find us easily from here and pull us back, even if we went by magic._

"This way, we can ensure that at least you six survive," Eragon finished.

"No! We are _not_ leaving you here to that thing!" Frelsa exclaimed, pointing at the pile of mist that seemed to be slowly taking form again.

"I give that you may give back to this world"

"WE ARE NOT LEAVING YOU HERE!"

Eragon smiled sadly at her. Saphira gently pushed Kalla away from her.

" It's not a choice," they stated as one.

The pile of mist had started to spin and turn like a tempest.

Eragon waved dismissively at them, muttering something under his breathe.

The smoke began to pile up upon itself, reforming the giant's shape.

Her world seemed to crumble, as it had in her dream of Angela's shop. Parts of her world crumbling and fading to black.

Saphira and Eragon turned to face them one last time. He smiled and despite his pale face and the now blood red dragon beneath him, and called, "Remember my cousin's castle!"

Frelsa looked at them, their features distorted through her tears. "Y-Yes, Ebrithil."

He gave her one last grin. "Eragon, not Ebrithil."

Saphira and him turned back to the Danger, like they were welcoming an old friend.

* * *

17-12-13

Woo, chapter 7 is d-o-n-e. I tried to do a tenner or a niner, but I only just got back from overseas so I could only manage a seven. Got a bit emotional writing this last one, and if you do too, means I have succeeded as a writer. And btw, do ut des is latin, and an ancient Roman phrase associated with religion, meaning 'I give that you might give'.


	8. Shadow of a City

When Arya woke up, she was in Ellesméra. Or at least she thought she was. She lay on her back on a soft bed of fallen leaves, looking up. Mellow fingers of sunlight fell through gaps in the boughs of leaves above.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin."

She imagined Ilian stalking her again, then realised that he was dead.

"Are you awake, my Queen?"

Arya shifted her hands and pushed herself into a sitting position. She was still wearing her bloodied nightgown, complete with a hole in the cloth and a waterfall of dried blood. She felt the skin beneath the gown, perfect, without a single scratch. She noticed a large wall of leaves to one side.

She turned to the source of the voice, an elf with short, black hair stood nearby, dressed in the fine robes of healers. Arya remembered to finish the greeting he had started moments ago, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda. How do you feel, my Queen?"

"Well… I think." She rubbed her stomach gingerly, the feeling of the icy blade slipping between flesh into her body still fresh in her mind.

"Where's Fírnen?"

"Besides you, my Queen."

She turned and realised that what she had assumed was a wall of leaves was actually Fírnen. He lay still in slumber, green scales refracting and reflecting light as his huge body moved up and down with each breathe. She tried to speak with him with her mind, but he could not be roused. Arya looked around and noticed that she was in the healer's building, a collection of rooms sung out of a grove of Maplewood trees. This must be one of the largest rooms to accommodate Fírnen.

Arya felt the dried blood that caked her gown. "Might I ask what happened aboard the ship?"

"You were found on the deck of _The Red Bull_ unconscious, bleeding profusely from a wound in your abdomen. None of the spellcasters present were able to heal you, and Bjartskular was in a magically induced sleep."

Seemed to match up with what she remembered.

"We were able to wake your dragon after a time, and he saw your condition and despaired. As you began to slip away he touched you with the tip of his snout and both you and him fell into a deep sleep. We have not been able to rouse either of you since."

She wondered how many spell casters it took to move a sleeping Fírnen. She laid one arm on his scaly belly. He had saved her.

A thought sprung to her mind. She did not tear her eyes from Fírnen to avoid letting the healer see the emotion within them. "Might I ask when the next ship will leave for Doru Araeba Nyr?" She rarely used the formal name for the island, 'New Doru Araeba'. Few people did anyway.

The healer hesitated. She knew something was wrong.

"The ships will be restricted to port due to unforeseen… complications."

She turned to him. "What has happened?"

"You should rest, my Queen."

"As Queen, I demand you speak the truth to me or I shall force it from you." Even in her state she was more than a match for a Healer.

He still seemed hesitant. She waved him aside. "I shall just find out myself then. Bring me my scrying mirror, the one with a sister mirror on the island."

The mirror had been a gift from Eragon, but was still rarely used, on account of his 'duties'. The Healer bowed quickly, "I'm sorry, my Queen, but your rest must remain uninterrupted save by us Healers."

Something was definitely wrong. She began to slide out from her bed of leaves, limbs sluggish and slow to respond. The Healer seemed torn, wanting to obey his Queen but not wanting to disobey orders from a higher ranked Healer. Arya muttered a spell and her limbs felt infinitely more limber. She advanced towards the doorway, which the Healer was standing in.

"Step aside, Healer." He obliged, bowing low and quickly moving to the left. She cast one look at Fírnen, who was not waking up any time soon, and ran out into Ellesméra.

She immediately began making her way to the coast, the far North fringes of Du Weldenvarden. Arya did not bother to use the pathways, just cutting straight through the thick forest. A few elves who saw her gazed in shock at the blood on her gown, but she payed them no heed. All around her were signs that something had happened. More than a few melancholy melodies floated through the branches, there were fewer elves on the paths. Even the werelights floating through and between the trees seemed dim.

Then she heard a dragon roar. Not uncommon in Ellesméra, there were usually quite a few resident Riders, but no Wild Dragons however. Wild dragons preferred their new island home far away. Arya looked up expecting to see one of the familiar dragons and their Riders passing overhead, something to bring some sanity to the situation. But instead of one, two, even three, there were six dragons. The thunder of dragons flew past, the power of their wings shaking the trees, rustling the boughs and branches and making it rain with leaves. That was strange. There were few Riders in Ellesméra at the time, last she checked, only two or three. The rest had gone on some quest.

Arya hastened to the coast, calling to mind her old lessons on the landscape of Du Weldenvarden. If she continued straight then she could cut through the forest and reach the coast relatively quickly. Another roar, this time from another direction, not where the thunder of dragons had headed. This was bad.

She was now sprinting through the forest, hindered slightly by her long gown. She realised why she had not favoured these ridiculous clothes in her youth. Ferns slapped against her legs, she ducked low to pass unscathed under low hanging branches and boughs of leaves. Arya scaled up a fallen log. Not far now.

Two roars, from another direction again. How many dragons were there in the forest? They would not be here in such numbers unless… unless something had happened.

Arya vaulted over a large root and the hem of her dress caught on a low branch. She yanked it forward, ripping a large tear in the fine silk. She did not care.

A vault, a leap, a duck. She ran and ran through the forest, until she left it behind. The trees ended abruptly, sensing that there was nothing further beyond. She emerged onto the huge stone cliffs that rose thousands of metres above the sea. A strong sea wind blew through her hair and gown, making them flap like a flag in the sky. Blue waves crashed onto the pale stone far below, but she only had eyes for what was before her.

The gloomy sky was filled with dragons, dragons of all colours and age, some huge and nearly as large as Fírnen, others tiny and carried by larger dragons, probably mothers, in their jaws. Some were saddled with Riders atop them. Most were not. They all flew from the North, from the island.

But the real horror lay behind the exodus of dragons and Riders. A huge black cloud spread from the North, its arms reaching to envelop the horizon and consume all.

* * *

They appeared on a hill, tumbling down the grassy slopes.

When she stopped rolling, Frelsa got up and sat down, trying to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. Kalla lay down next to her, resting her green head next to her Rider.

_They're gone_, she realised slowly. She buried her face in Kalla's scales and cried.

The first rays of light of dawn began to creep from the East, made strange and beautiful through her tears. She felt a presence next to her and saw Dýrgrir and Drukjl next to her, the Urgal sitting with head between his knees, just like Eragon back in the cave. Another wave of tears. Shepherd leaned against Errol, looking up at the last of the stars before the light spirited them away.

They sat there for a long time, Frelsa did not know how long. She felt the cool night winds give way to the warmth of the Sun, the dew on the grass blades beneath her. Time seemed to have left them alone for the moment, giving them a safe little bubble within which they could grieve.

A shadow fell over her. Drukjl stood over her, one hand on Dýrgrir besides him. The brown dragon's eyes were sad and forlorn. _We must go._

_ Go?_ She could not rouse herself to use her own voice.

"Yes," Drukjl reaffirmed. His voice sounded even hoarser than usual. "Or our masters' sacrifice would have been in vain."

She knew it was true but she did not want to believe it. She wanted to believe they had never made a sacrifice, that this was just a bad nightmare that she and Kalla were sharing and soon they would wake up.

Shepherd was beginning to rouse himself, he seemed almost like he was shaking himself awake. "Ram's right, we have to go...have to go, fast as we can."

_Go where?_ Kalla asked dejectedly.

_Eragon spoke of his cousin's castle, yes?_ Errol answered immediately. _Then we go to his cousin's castle._

Frelsa saw a hand enter her field of view. She looked up and saw Shepherd, solemn, the usual animated joy missing from his face. "Come on, we can't do it without you. We weren't with him down there."

Frelsa remained on the ground.

"He wouldn't want us to waste time mourning them," Shepherd reminded. "He would want us to finish our job."

She reluctantly accepted the hand. Errol bent down and used his shoulder to help support Kalla as she got to her feet.

Drukjl mounted Dýrgrir and flew up for a better view. When he returned, he informed them that his best guess was that they had landed within Surda.

"The nearest form of civilisation," He pointed South-West, "Is a human city far from here."

Shepherd scratched his chin. "I'd guess that it would be Feinster."

Frelsa did not bother chipping in. She could not remember her life in Alagaësia at all and all her knowledge on the towns and cities came from dusty old tomes and yellowed scrolls, and that could not match up to Shepherd's intuitive knowledge of his homeland.

_Let's go then_, Errol said, eager to be off, already spreading his wings.

_Actually, I don't feel that up to flying_. Kalla seemed to be in a worse state than the rest of them, but still Frelsa was amazed. Flying was one of Kalla's greatest pleasures in life.

Errol immediately agreed, contradicting his earlier statement. _You're right, Kalla. We should all take it a bit slow for a while, after what happened…_

_Mm hm_, Kalla responded.

And they began their march.

* * *

Drukjl and Dýrgrir decided that he would escort them from above, as a lookout just in case. And after a while, Shepherd agreed to do the same, giving the excuse that 'four pairs of eyes are better than two'. Errol was slightly upset, but Shepherd could tell Frelsa and Kalla wanted some alone time.

He kept on replaying the scene in his mind, his view of Eragon and Saphira getting fatally slashed by the Rider's own weapon. He wondered if maybe, maybe if he was faster he could have changed something. The outcome might have been different. He cast these thoughts aside. He had to keep moving on.

Dýrgrir flew some distance in front of them. Errol glided for great distances, barely flapping at all. Shepherd was not sure he would have bothered to anyway, the grey dragon's attention was entirely focused on the two figures they escorted below. Or more specifically, one of the two figures.

_Love's a strange thing, huh, Errol?_ Shepherd asked slyly.

_ It sure is_, Errol rumbled in affirmation. Then he seemed to have realised what he just agreed to. _What I meant was… uh, no, of course not! I... I... why would you even ask something like that, Shepherd?_

He gave a small smile. _You know what I'm talking about, 'Grey Head'._

_ I hate names. _

_ But you weren't complaining when _she_ called you that were you?_

_ Uh…_

Shepherd actually gave a short laugh. Even after what had just happened, he still remembered how to tease his dragon.

_Come on, Grey Head, I saw how desperate you were to break through those doors at the Healer's. And at the volcano top. There must be a reason you were so frantic to reach Frelsa and Kalla, or perhaps just for Kalla maybe?_

_Wonderful, I had hoped you would've matured_, Errol grumbled.

_Errol, we're dragon and Rider. You can tell me._

He was obviously reluctant to answer. _Dýrgrir's not listening is he?_

Shepherd checked if anyone was. _Nope._

His dragon seemed to loosen up a bit. _It's just that, I mean… she's just so… so… just look at her!_

Shepherd took a look. _Green and scaly. I like your taste._

_ Laugh at me again and I'll drop you. You don't have a saddle, remember?_

That, of course, made Shepherd laugh again which only evoked a grumble from the steel dragon.

_But you _have_ to agree that she's quite pretty... I-I mean attractive, for a dragon, _Errol said extremely awkwardly.

_I'll take your word for it._

_But, she's only got an eye for those Wild ones,_ Errol sighed sadly as he returned his gaze to the green dragon far below. Shepherd felt sad as he saw his dragon stare at Kalla so wistfully._ She'll never feel the same way about me._

_Don't worry, Errol. Everything changes, even dragons,_ he consoled.

_You really think that?_

_ I really do._

* * *

_I wish nothing had ever changed._

Frelsa turned and looked at Kalla as she walked sullenly besides her Rider.

_It can be again, Frelsa. _

_ How?_

Kalla lowered her head and pushed her snout under Frelsa's arm. _Just close your eyes. I'll keep you on track._

She closed her eyes.

_ Feel the wind in your hair, Frelsa?_

_ Yes._

_ Feel the Sun on your skin?_

_ Yes, I do._

_ Now imagine yourself back on the sparring field, sitting next to all of us. _

She could almost feel the grass under her.

_What do you see?_

_ I see…_

And what was amazing, was that she did see. The image seemed to paint itself on her eyelids, showing her what once was.

_I see Eragon, and Saphira and all of you. He's teaching us about how to sing to flowers to make them bloom._

_ I remember that one._

She saw in her mind's eye, Eragon with a tiny Orchid bud. He sung softly to it, the lullaby gently goading the flowed out of its nest. The song was beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes when she had first heard it.

_What is this?_ She asked Kalla in wonder as the scene played out before her.

_A trick I was taught_, the Dragon responded, slightly gladdened that at least one of them was happy now.

The flower seemed to sway in accordance with the song. The walls of the bud twitched once, then twice, then opened with an unearthly 'crack.'

Frelsa frowned. She did not remember that sound. _What happened, Kalla?_

_ … Just step back slowly._

She lifted her right foot and brought it back slowly, but something was barring it from moving. She began to open her eyes, saying, _What is this-_

Frelsa had stepped into a rib cage.

She gave a cry of shock and yanked her foot back, but the collapsed ribs held fast. Pulling again and again, she placed her other foot on the ribcage and pushed back. Her foot popped free with a disgusting series of crackling noises.

_What? How is this _thing _here?_ Her mind flashed back to under the volcano, the Grinning Skeleton who she had nearly died against. A shiver shot up her spine.

_Seems there are more_, Kalla said with disgust.

Frelsa looked up and saw the landscape before them littered with long rotted corpses, blackened and charred bones from countless bodies.

_Frelsa, what is it?_ Shepherd asked. _Why did we stop?_

_ You can't see it? _

_ See what?_ They must be far too high up to see the bones that spread out across the field.

_What is this place?_ She asked in horror.

_This place, you know it as Melian._ Drukjl answered sombrely as Errol and Dýrgrir descended.

_This place of death?_ She asked in disgust. A few ruins remained here and there, a few cornerstones, a pile of charred wood, mounds of collapsed roofs and walls. The grass here was sparse, as if even nature could barely encroach on this damned ground. She remembered reading that Melian was a small but bustling town that was known for its bread tinted with seaweed.

"It was Melian once," Shepherd called as he got nearer. "Burnt down years ago, most of the tomes on our island were not very up to date on recent events."

Frelsa walked through the burnt ruins, possessed by some morbid desire to see how these people had been ended. She was powerless as the images flashed through her mind. Men and women running through the streets, running from the fire. Neighbours falling to their knees as acrid smoke enveloped their lungs, their stiff bodies rolling into the gutters and drains. Buildings collapsing as their wooden supports burned to dust. She wondered if this was what their Island was like now. Frelsa immediately dispelled the thought.

Her companions reluctantly followed her and Kalla into the ruins. Drukjl stepped over a blackened skeleton. "At least we know we tread the right path."

She remembered that Melian was only a short distance from Feinster. Frelsa glanced through a hole in a pile of stones and saw a skeleton within, hands wrapped around its neck. It had died choking on smoke, the horrid black fumes forcing their way into their victim's throat as he gasped for air.

The Rider placed one hand on a fallen beam and stepped over a corner stone. The beam shifted and tore down a small section of the rubble, exposing another skeleton on its belly, leaning against the last wall of the building. There were a thousand scratch marks on the stones where the skeleton had in life tried in vain to claw its way out.

They needed to go, to abandon this place of death. Only the dead were here, and if they tarried they might end up dead like them. Like that one on the ground. Or that one in the drain. Or that one…

Frelsa shook her head to clear it of disturbing images. "Let's leave. Now."

Scaling Kalla's side and taking her place on her back, they turned around and headed for the exit.

* * *

Even at their reasonable speed, it was half a day's journey to Feinster from what once was Melian.

Frelsa asked Shepherd and Errol to help plot a course so as to not run into anymore unexpected anomalies. The two of them knew this place best. They had drawn a crude map on some dirt and Shepherd was using a stick to point out their course. A very, very crude map.

"So we want to get to Feinster, yes?" he carved a line in the dirt straight from his diagram of Melian to Feinster.

_Your art is impeccable_, Dýrgrir noted.

"Indeed, if you were aiming to draw two circles and a line," Drukjl chuckled.

"Who's the 'High Chief Navigator' here?" Shepherd replied curtly. "So if we want to get to Feinster, we'll need to cross the Jiet River." He jabbed his stick at the line.

"Please do not tell me that line is supposed to be the Jiet," Drukjl asked.

"Hello? High Chief Navigator, speaking here!"

_What is wrong with them? _Frelsa asked Kalla in exasperation.

_This is their way of mourning, I suppose._

The two continued to insult and bicker with each other. Frelsa sighed and joined in, "Boys, we can decide whether artistic skill or being the 'High Chief Navigator' is more important, but now we need a course."

Drukjl shot Shepherd a look and retreated. Shepherd dusted some non-existent dust from his tunic. "So, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted."

She rolled her eyes as he glared at Drukjl.

"We need a course to follow. But we just can't cut straight through to Feinster and across the Jiet."

"Why not, oh High Chief Navigator?" Drukjl asked.

_The Burning Plains_, Errol explained. _If we were to forge a line through to our destination, then we would be treading across the tip of the Plains. An unpleasant experience _

"Right, so we skirt around the Plains," He drew a line that angled up sharply to the Jiet, then sloped down sharply to Feinster, "Then head to Feinster. From there it would be a simple matter to charter a ship to Teirm and then to Palancar Castle. And if we can't do that then we could just take a flight down and easily get there anyway."

_Simple enough_, Dýrgrir said.

Simple. Frelsa knew that a journey down the length of the Spine would be anything but.

"Then off to Feinster it is!" Shepherd said, swiping one hand across the dirt map.

* * *

The journey itself was incredibly bleak and boring. Frelsa and Kalla walked on foot, while Shepherd and Drukjl followed from the air. Eventually, sparse vegetation began to appear on the plains and soon the grasslands gave way to groves of tall pines. They followed a cobbled path that cut through the forest.

Frelsa noticed that the pines here were young, as least compared to the trees on their Island. The smallest of trees there rivalled the largest giants here.

_What's wrong with you all? _Frelsa asked as Dýrgrir dived down like a falcon to pounce on Errol. _Our masters are gone! And you all are acting like another day on the field._

_You can't change what has happened_, Dýrgrir answered. _If this happening has taught us anything it would be to enjoy life while we can._

Frelsa mulled over the brown dragon's words as he was tackled from the side by Errol. They had a truth to them, but she still felt like they should be mourning their masters not participating in dogfights.

It must have been noon when they came across the Jiet.

It had a mask of peacefulness and serenity, but so did the sea. Frelsa remembered the time she had fallen off Kalla and into the sea. The face was beautiful, but beneath the currents raged against each other, each yearning to take dominance of the whole. She had a feeling that this river was like that. The water seemed almost milky, reflecting the sunlight into a thousand different hues and shades.

Frelsa stared quizzically at the river. The surface of it seemed like a rainbow, a timeless and strange array of colours.

"What makes the river like this?" She asked no one in particular.

"Who knows? Lots of strange things happen in this mad world. I suggest you don't drink the stuff," Shepherd called down from above.

Kalla offered her back to her Rider, who obligingly climbed on. She realised that Kalla had grown slightly. She could not scale up her side with only one move now.

Dýrgrir was already halfway across the river, Errol close behind. Kalla spread her wings and took off.

When they were nearly across, things started to go south. Drukjl gave a cry and seemed to just slide off Dýrgrir's back, the brown dragon roaring in pain and plummeting. Errol flapped his wings frantically and started to descend frighteningly fast for seemingly no reason at all.

_Make a choice. _

She paled as the voice rang out in her mind. It was familiar to her, the same voice she had heard under the volcano from a tempest.

_Take your pick. _

Frelsa knew that Drukjl could not swim, neither could Dýrgrir, they had always called it useless, but Errol could at least keep afloat in water. She said to Kalla, _Head for Drukjl!_

Kalla dived down like a stone. Dýrgrir seemed unable to right his fall and go to help his Rider. The green dragon reached Drukjl within seconds, grabbing him with her front claws. The Urgal jerked his head towards his dragon and bellowed, "Dýrgrir!"

Kalla swooped down towards the brown dragon, clamping her back claws onto him, careful to avoid the spikes on Dýrgrir's back. Dragons were not meant to carry other dragons larger than themselves, Kalla was barely able to fly straight. Frelsa frantically fed her energy to her dragon to keep her going. Thankfully they were close to the shore.

Kalla dropped Dýrgrir and Drukjl onto the shore and spun around to find Errol. Frelsa scanned the milky surface of the water, a thousand different colours entered her eyes, but not the colour of steel. The surface of the Jiet was completely unbroken by any dragon.

_Errol!_ Kalla roared at the river. To which, she got a response.

_Over here_, came the sullen reply. To their left, a grey dragon dragged itself out of the water, his scales wet with the iridescent water and shining with a thousand colours besides grey. A shivering Shepherd clung onto his back.

_Errol, are you fine?_ Kalla began.

_Yeah, sure_, he answered. Frelsa was puzzled by the curtness of his reply, and looked at Shepherd for an answer but he too seemed puzzled, even more so in fact.

They heard a snarl of pain from behind and turned. Dýrgrir was on the ground, evidently struggling not to start convulsing. They swooped down to the ground and realised why.

Both of the brown dragon's wings were peppered with dozens of holes, each identical in size. He lay spread out on the ground, each wing stretched to its full length. Not enough bleeding to kill Dýrgrir, but definitely enough holes to make flight impossible. He was grounded, and would be permanently if not healed quickly.

Drukjl was kneeling next to his dragon, healing the holes on the right wing. Kalla inched towards the left wing and placed her snout upon it, feeding her energy to Frelsa. She breathed, "Waíse heill."

The holes in his wing began to stitch themselves together again. When the last hole was healed she was so tired she nearly fell off Kalla. She shook her head to dispel the feeling of lethargy that had seeped into her bones. The wings of dragons were much more taxing to heal than other body parts. She did not know how Drukjl still seemed so energetic.

_Thank you, that was an… uncomfortable experience._

_ What happened back there?_ Kalla asked as she helped Dýrgrir up.

"My saddle straps snapped," Drukjl stated simply. He inspected the line of torn leather strips down the sides of the brown leather saddle. "Strange, I had gotten them replaced only a month ago."

_After Drukjl slipped off, the holes appeared in my wings_, Dýrgrir explained, giving his newly healed wings a few experimental flaps. He was obviously still uncomfortable with his experience.

"Looks like you have to lay of the boar fat," Shepherd chuckled as he dismounted and walked forward to inspect the straps. Errol kept his distance.

"How about you two?" Frelsa asked.

"Hm? Strange, nothing this dramatic happened to us. Just felt like a huge hand was pushing us down."

Errol remained silent. Frelsa realised that he appeared as if he were glaring at them.

* * *

They travelled for perhaps two or three hours, before making camp some distance off the road in a clearing. Shepherd grabbed Errol by the snout and dragged him off to one side. He checked to see if anyone was listening before he said, _Errol! What the hell was that back there?_

_ What? I told you, felt like something was pushing us down._

_ You know what I'm talking about, why were you acting like that around Kalla and Dýrgrir?_

_ I was just a bit upset about getting wet, you know I hate that._

_ No you don't. _Shepherd knew for a fact that Errol actually enjoyed diving. _So tell me the truth._

_ I have no idea what you're talking about,_ Errol promptly proceeded to sit down with his back to Shepherd.

He sighed in exasperation. _Errol, we have a bond deeper than this. I told you before, you can trust me like I can trust you. Why did you think I hung on when you fell into the Jiet? I could have let go and swum away myself but I didn't. Why then?_

Errol glanced back almost resentfully, before his expression softened. _I…I don't know why I acted like that around them._

Shepherd gave his dragon one of those looks.

_It's the truth! I don't know why I acted like an upset hatchling around them, I guess after she went to help Dýrgrir first I was just, maybe a bit…_

_ Jealous?_

The resentment returned to Errol's eyes and he turned away again before his body visibly relaxed. _Maybe I was. But it felt different than any other time, almost like someone was whispering in my ear. Telling me bad things._

Shepherd smiled. Nothing he did not know how to remedy. _Don't worry, Errol. That's just the love sickness talking to you. _

_ Maybe… but-_

_ Oh come on you big grey idiot!_ Shepherd pounced on Errol.

They rolled in the dirt and fallen leaves for a few moments. Errol was larger than a war horse and could have easily killed or won against Shepherd, but he did not.

They stopped and the steel dragon looked into his Rider's eyes. _Do you forgive me?_

_ How could I not?_

_Just, don't tell any of them. Please?_

_Not a word._

* * *

When they got back, Frelsa was busy practicing extracting water from leaves. She had gathered a few leaves, only thirteen or so, and murmured the spell. The leaves instantly shrivelled and crumbled to ash, small globules of water rising up from the blackened pile. Frelsa brought her hand to her lips and the water slowly entered her mouth.

"Bravo!" Shepherd called from the side lines. "Congratulations on mastering the most impractical method of drinking known to Riders!"

"It is called mastering the finer arts of magic," Frelsa explained with a hint of haughtiness. "At least finer than all your simple spells."

"Granted."

He sat down next to her. Kalla was sleeping on Frelsa's other side and Errol hung back, still embarrassed by his actions.

"How do you manage to do it?" She asked, her voice hollow.

"Do what?"

"Get over them being gone."

Shepherd turned and saw that she was close to tears. She spoke again, "I mean, it's only been a few hours and you four are prancing about like sugar fed children!"

It did not surprise him that Frelsa and Kalla were taking the loss hardest. They were Eragon's and Saphira's favourites after all. After Frelsa mysteriously appeared on their island, Eragon had seen promise in her and brought one of the newer eggs before the girl with no memory. Kalla immediately hatched for her. Their masters had taken an immediate shine to them, Frelsa had always been better with magic than any of them, Kalla had been the fastest of the three dragons and the most agile in air. They unofficially became the favoured students.

Shepherd turned back. "Just like Dýrgrir said. It's no use mulling over the past, we've got to keep looking forward. If we don't we'll get trapped in the past forever."

"Is this the same Shepherd I studied with?" She asked with a hint of a smile on her face

"Guess again."

He took a nearby stick and began absentmindedly scrawling runes in the dirt.

"If we look back on the past then it's in the past we'll stay. No matter how much... how much it hurts, we've got to keep moving forward."

He paused for a while.

"Don't tell Drukjl I said this, supposed to be a secret between us, but this thing we have about moving on, it was kind of like a pact between us."

"Hm?"

"It's actually-"

"Feinster is close!" Drukjl called as he and Dýrgrir swooped down and entered the clearing. "A journey of half, maybe more, of an hour."

_Sorry about what happened back there_, Errol apologised sheepishly to Dýrgrir.

The brown dragon snorted. _We are brothers, brothers will fight at times._

Shepherd got to his feet. "So how we gonna play this out? Our main priority is to find any means of transportation to Teirm, and if we can find some information on the other Riders from the Island."

Frelsa nodded. "We could all just go in together."

"That is not an option. They sent us a present." Drukjl pulled an arrow out of one of Dýrgrir's saddlebags. It was pierced through a slip of paper. "Dýrgrir strayed too close and this was shot at us. Would have stuck me between my horns if not for my wards."

Frelsa took the arrow and pulled the note off. She read aloud, "No Dragons. No Urgals. No Magic."

Drukjl broke the arrow in two and threw it aside, he made a guttural noise and shook his horned head at the note.

_Feinster has become an Independent City-State in recent years, _Errol explained.

_ Meaning?_ Dýrgrir asked.

_They stick to the old hates, and have a few new ones. No Urgals, or anything affiliated with Urgals. Not sure what's this about Dragons though._

Frelsa frowned. "How do you two learn about them becoming independant? I thought we were disallowed from any contact with the world outside the island?"

It was true. Most Riders studying on the island were disallowed contact with the mainland so as to reduce the level of distractions to their education.

"We have our ways," Shepherd answered mysteriously.

Frelsa seemed in a much better mood than before, she started counting off on her fingers. "No dragons, no Drukjl, no Riders. What else will they shoot on sight?"

Shepherd already had a plan in mind. "So Frelsa and I'll go in, charter a ship, and as it's leaving we signal you guys, you four hop on and we go all the way to Teirm."

_I still have my doubts_, Dýrgrir said. _Can we not just fly all the way to Palancar?_

"We might be able to, but some of us may not be up for the journey," Drukjl answered, glancing at Frelsa with concern. She was still sleeping, or pretending to sleep at least.

Shepherd picked up Shorren and buckled it to his belt. "We stick to the plan. It was well thought out and a stroke of brilliance actually."

"Because it was your plan?"

"Exactly."

* * *

Errol watched his brother-of-soul-and-mind walk away, down the path with no-past-Kalla's-partner-Frelsa. It pained him to be parted from Shepherd but knew it was a necessary to find a big-wood-float-on-water-ship. He would have preferred to fly all the way to Palancar but did not voice his opinion for the sake of another.

Brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir spoke. _We shall stay in this clearing, away from the path so none from Feinster might see us._

_ Agreed_, he answered.

Errol returned to the sun-beam-clearing and lay down on the ground some distance away from Kalla. He'd known Kalla for as long as he had studied under blue-scales-great-strong-Saphira, but still felt a rush of emotion whenever he laid eyes on her.

She lay stretched out in the sun-beam-clearing, the light catching on her scales and shining like the flower-gem-ring that wise-hands-fire-hammer-Hothgeir had instructed Frelsa to give to strange-elf-queen-Arya. Kalla was as perfect as the ring to him, even more so.

_See something interesting?_ Kalla asked. He realised that her green eyes were open and staring back at him.

_Uh… I was, you… I thought you were sleeping?_ Errol managed.

_So did I,_ she sighed sadly as she stretched cat-like on the leaf-bed-dirt-ground.

Brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir gave Errol a look, and he got up, _I'll go um… hunt for a while._

Errol spread his wings and took off, flying into the strong-sea-wind-sky. He adjusted his tail for balance and circled over the tall-pine-forest for a while. From where he was he could see the rat-nest-by-the-sea-Feinster on the horizon. He was uncomfortable with Shepherd going to a place so evil. He found a little shadowy spot next to a stream and tipped his once-gone-new-wing down and began his descent.

He swooped up as he neared the ground, the strain on his wings to stop his fall so great that it felt like his wings would be ripped from his body. But he landed on the leaf-bed-dirt-ground safely.

Bending down he lapped up some of the cold stream water, before he heard the voice again.

_You can't trust him you know._

He shook his head to drive away the strange-bad-mind-voice. It had been talking to him for months, filling his head with bad-evil-thoughts. The bad-evil-thoughts were always directed to one thing.

_Why do you think she helped _him_ instead of you?_

_ I've gotten past it…_ Errol reminded himself.

_You say that, but even you don't believe it. She favours him and you know it._

_ Just the love-sick talking, just the love-sick talking…_He chanted to himself. The strange-bad-mind-voice sounded so much like the dark-evil-hurt-Kalla-big-two-legs under the fire-mountain. But different still.

_You know I'm right, don't you._

He wanted to believe what Shepherd had told him, but he just could not.

_ He is my brother-of-another-nest_, Errol reminded himself. He had promised himself when he first heard the voice to tell Shepherd about it, but he never did.

_He is my brother…_

_Not anymore…_

* * *

The two of them reached the gates of Feinster in little more than half an hour, just as Drukjl had predicted. Shepherd banged on the tall metal gates with his fist. No one answered. He unsheathed his grey sword and whacked its pommel on the gates a few times, making a relatively louder noise, before sheathing it.

"Who goes there!"

Frelsa looked up. There, on the battelments eighty feet above was an armoured guard. He had no weapons save a bow and quiver of arrows on his back. Shepherd called up, "Two travellers, seeking rest and respite!"

The guard seemed to look at them almost pitifully. "You'll find more than rest and respite here."

He looked to his left and right, as if checking to see if anyone was watching, "I suggest you leave Feinster as fast as possible, don't set one foot within these gates."

"I'm sorry, my good man, but we are in dire need of provisions for our journey!" Shepherd called again.

"Two young fellows such as you have no business in a city like this." Another voice, this time from another battlement. A guard appeared there.

"We need to enter or our mother and father shall die from illness!" Frelsa pleaded. It took a lot of effort to get her voice to carry up to the guards above.

The first guard shook his head pitifully, and for a moment she feared he would not open the gates, but instead he said, "Let the God's witness that I tried. Open the gates!"

There was a great whirring noise, like huge gears turning. The tall metal gates grinded open a crack, before halting, then continued all the way.

A guard was standing behind the gates, armour dull and shineless. He gave them an evil smile, "Welcome to Feinster."

Frelsa thought that the place was a dump. The streets were lined with rubbish that gave off the stink of rot, there were piles of rubble here and there blocking off streets. There were few people on the roads except a staggering drunkard yelling curses at them and a couple of dirty beggars.

She shielded her nose with one hand. "We have to go in there?"

"Exactly. Great place isn't it?"

She heard laughing from above and looked up. A gang of children ran across the rooftops, shouting in glee. They were dressed in torn and tattered clothes. Someone shouted after them rather angrily, and Frelsa realised that the smallest child toted a cut purse in each hand.

"This is nothing like I remembered," Shepherd said as he stared around.

"When were you last here?" Frelsa asked.

"Fourteen years ago, when I was three. But still."

They navigated their way down one of the dirty cobblestone roads. Along the way, a drunkard caught sight of them. "Hey little lady!"

She paid him no heed.

The drunkard yelled a few disparaging remarks at her, before she flicked a hand and murmured a spell. The man's eyes rolled back and he toppled over.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Shepherd warned as they walked down the road. "Look."

A beggar on the curb had seen her act of magic and got up yelling at her fearfully, something about demons.

"They don't take too kindly to magic here."

"You don't say."

Shepherd looked at the Sun's position in the sky. "We should find somewhere we can get information. And maybe a bit of rest."

She did not disagree, but the state of this city made her wonder what kind of food they would get. Frelsa saw a man down an alley urinating on a wall.

Shepherd stopped a passerby who did not seem inebriated. "Excuse me my good man, but might I ask where is the nearest respectable tavern?"

The man looked them up and down, eyes resting for a moment on their swords. "My Gods, you two look pretty done in, what've you been doing, fighting dragons?"

"We've been on the road for some time now," Frelsa lied. "We need a place to rest for the night."

She realised how war-torn they must look, and made a silent promise to get some new clothes if she could. And something to hide their swords.

The man pointed straight down the road. "Continue down here and you'll find the Blue Monster Tavern, 'bought respectable as it gets in this city."

They thanked him and continued on their way. Frelsa heard him call, "Want my advice? Get out as soon as you can."

"That's cheerful," she grumbled.

They walked down the road. The houses on either side had light within them, but all the windows were boarded up. One or two walls were collapsed, and at one point she saw a pile of blackened char and burnt timbers where a house should have been.

The Blue Monster Tavern seemed anything _but_ blue. A two-story building of stone that might have once been grey. But there was still one or two intact windows, which meant this building had to be better than others. She saw the sign and frowned. A sapphire blue dragon with a snarl on its face, holding one half of a slain soldier in one hand and the other half lay in her jaws. She wanted to draw Delswoir and slice the sign off its post right then and there, but she restrained herself.

Shepherd pushed open the door and bowed to her, "Ladies first."

The tavern seemed like a warzone. Tables were overturned, chairs broken in half. An ale bottle had been smashed against the wall, causing the dark alcohol to seep down. The tavern's patrons were scattered all around the area, some on the ground, some lying across tables and chairs or against walls. There seemed to be only three or four intact tables in the whole room. The bartender was leaning against the counter, sullenly pouring himself a drink. He noticed he had new customers and immediately brightened. "Welcome to the Blue Monster! Would you like a drink?"

Shepherd opened his mouth to order something before Frelsa cut him off, "No, but do you have any food?"

The bartender shook his head, "Afraid all the people in this city ever eat is ale and mead. How about a Red Orchid Shot? Or an Opossum Swill? That one's guaranteed to make you play dead for hours."

"Since you can't give us anything to eat, how about some information?" Frelsa asked as she stepped over a snoring man with a broken bottle in hand.

The bartender's eyes became fearful. Frelsa reached the counter and he leaned over, whispering, "Are you crazy? I don't know what information you want, but I don't have it!"

She placed her right hand on the counter and turned it over, revealing the gedwëy ignasia on her palm. The tender's eyes lit up in awe. He muttered, "Argetlam?"

"Argetlam," she reaffirmed. He turned to Shepherd, who revealed his gedwëy ignasia as well. "Now how about that information?"

The bartender quickly reached over and closed Frelsa's hand, concealing the silvery mark. He hissed, "You lot are either stupid or crazy to come here. Tell me what you want to know and get out."

"Are there any ships leaving for Teirm?" Shepherd asked.

He seemed to ponder that. "One, it was going to leave tomorrow."

"Going to?"

His voice became even softer. "The _Dragon Wing_, its captain, a man named Lod, brown hair, nice clothes, he said something bad about the Lord of this city. Off to the gallows with him."

"When's the hanging?" Frelsa asked frantically.

"Uh…"

"Tell us," She asked again.

The man answered, "Today, in less than an hour! He might already be dead."

"Where?"

"The city square. Just go straight down this road then take a left pass the rubble blockade and you're there."

"Thank you," Frelsa said gratefully and dragged her companion out.

Shepherd protested, "Wait, how about just one or two dri-"

"No."

Once they were out, they began Frelsa happened to glance back and saw through a gap in some of the window boards the man making a strange gesture over his heart. She had seen other Riders do that before, it was a gesture to ward off evil.

They began making their way to the city square. Frelsa asked Shepherd, "Did you see the way he looked at us? The way he spoke to us?"

"Yup, out of fear."

"And that sign outside the tavern, it was just so… so…ugh! The people around here must have something against magic and Riders."

He nodded along without listening. He was busy observing their surroundings.

"There are more people here," he noted.

She looked around and realised that he was correct. The street's only pedestrians were not only drunkards and beggars now, there was actually a number of sober people walking down the road. They took the same path as the two Riders so Frelsa concluded that they were headed to the hanging as well, but for a different reason. Many of them glanced nervously at their swords and shied away.

_So how do you find Feinster?_ Kalla's voice resounded in her mind.

Frelsa was quite startled that she could communicate with her over such a large distance. _How…_

_We were taught more than how to hunt and fly, you know._

They came to a huge pile of rubble blocking off the whole road and made a left turn, just as the man had instructed.

_Truthfully, this city's a dump._

_How so?_

Frelsa relayed a few images and smells to Kalla, who broke off the contact for a moment. When she returned, she said, _That was… unpleasant. _

_You don't know the worst of it._

_It is certainly nothing like we heard about._

She remembered the stories of the Siege of Feinster, but the city in those stories was nothing like this.

Kalla still sounded pretty depressed despite whatever Dýrgrir had said.

_So how goes the search?_ She asked.

_Badly. We've only found one ship leaving for Teirm, and its captain is to be hanged today. _

_I assume you and Shepherd are on your way to rectify that?_

_Yup._

_Just make sure that-_

The connection ended abruptly. Kalla's consciousness just disappeared. Frelsa frowned. She turned to Shepherd, "Kalla just talked to me."

"Like just now?"

"Yup, but something weird happened. We were talking then suddenly she just disappeared."

She was still concerned but Shepherd seemed quite relaxed. "Don't worry, probably nothing. Just stick with the, sorry, 'MY' plan."

She rolled her eyes.

"Wait, this is it."

They emerged onto the only well-kept part of the city. Here, the pavement was freshly swept. Not the slightest piece of rubbish here. Beggars were gone too. It was a huge rectangular square, ringed on all sides by short buildings. Off to one side the keep could be seen, looming above the city. It was huge, a tall square structure adorned by many towers and turrets, one of which was caved in. The square was crowded with what seemed to be the entire population of Feinster, the citizens jostling for space and yelling insults at each other. Frelsa tip toed and saw the tip of the gallows above the heads of the people.

"Come on, we need to get closer," She said to Shepherd, forging her way into the crowd.

The stifling mass of people was almost unbearable to be within, she trod on another's feet many times and her feet were in turn trod on many more. She yelped as a tall man, wearing a white, long sleeved tunic with metal bracers and a beaked hood that covered his eyes, pushed her aside. Shepherd caught her as she fell back and several nearby citizens gave them disapproving looks. Frelsa almost wanted to say something against the man who had pushed her before she noticed the knives adorning his wide belt and the sabre at his side. He disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.

As they got closer to the front, they began to hear a voice shouting over the crowd.

"…has been accused of Arson, Thievery, Slander…"

The list went on and on. Frelsa could sense they were almost at the front. Here, the tension and excitement in the crowd was palpable.

"…Extortion, Perjury, Assault…"

Somehow she did not think the criminal had done all those things. And if he did, then this was one messed up man.

"…Treason, Defamation, and Piracy!"

The crowd roared just as she reached the front of the crowd. The people around her jeered and threw assorted articles at the man with the noose around his neck. Frelsa looked up at the gallows and saw a man standing under them on top of a barrel with a noose around his neck. The man was big boned, but his face was bruised and battered and peppered with bruises. His brown hair was still neat and tidy though, strangely. His clothes were colourful and fine, they would have looked quite beautiful if they were not stained with rubbish and rotten fruit. But he still held his head high.

To one side, a man with a sack over his head stood by a lever that undoubtedly opened a trapdoor under the victim which would let him fall till the noose pulled fast. Next to that man was the one who had read out the crimes, a short fellow in stained clothes that somewhat resembled an official's.

"And by decree of Lord Neoettr…"

'Neoettr'. 'Not fair' in the Ancient Language. Charming.

"…this despicable criminal shall be hanged by the neck, till dead."

The cheering intensified once more, the crowd's roar blotting out all other sounds. She looked besides her and saw Shepherd. _What do we do?_

_I don't know, I don't-_

"Would the accused like a few last words?" Asked the official.

"He dosen't deserve to speak!" Yelled someone within the crowd.

Lod smiled. "None of you know what my crime is do you?"

The crowd's jeering did not relent.

"You accept this bullshit streaming from Feinster Keep? I spoke the truth against our Lord and will be hanged for it. What crime did I commit?"

"Defamation!" stated the official.

Lod raised an eyebrow. "Granted, but besides that?"

The crowd's roars did not relent. The brown haired man seemed to sadden. "If I will not be judged fairly in this world, may I be judged fairly in the next. Pull the lever, Kronk!"

Kronk, the man with the sack over his head, grabbed the lever firmly with both hands, leaning back.

Frelsa placed one hand on Delswoir's pommel.

The lever began to crank back.

She nodded at Shepherd, _Ready?_

He nodded back.

Frelsa had taken her first step towards the wooden platform when she heard the official's cries, "Stop, stop, stop!"

Kronk let go of the lever and it fell back into its original position and Lod heaved a sigh of relief. Frelsa quickly retreated back into the crowd.

"Grave news has reached my ears, good people of Feinster!"

The official stepped aside and gestured to the shadows behind him. A man stepped out of the dark. Frelsa raised an eyebrow at the figure.

He wore a long white robe with cuffs embroided with gold thread. A wide blue belt spanned the girth of his waist and from it fell four long, wide strips of blue cloth longer than his robe, trailing behind him. He wore a blue hood that cast a shadow over his face and rendered it invisible, the blue hood expanding into a shawl of sorts that draped over his shoulders and stretched behind him like a cape. In his hand he held a golden staff, topped with seven gold circles that were suspended one within the other, spinning serenely. He had a wreathe of laurels on his crown, a golden ring of leaves atop his blue hood.

"The Sentinels have spoken!" The official cried fanatically.

The rings atop the Sentinel's staff began to glow with a red fluorescence.

"Good people of Feinster, there are, curse me for saying these words, magic users among us!"

A collective gasp spread through the crowd. Frelsa paled. She backed up but could not find a gap in the crowd behind her to leave through.

"Do not panic, the Sentinels are rooting out this cancer as we speak."

The Sentinel on the gallows turned his head slowly, examining the crowd laid out before him, his black shadow of a face seeming to zoom in on Frelsa. He raised his staff and thudded it against the wooden floors beneath him. The rings were literally burning with red light. Frelsa turned around, whispering to Shepherd, "Time to go."

"Agreed."

She tried to find a hole in the crowd to squirm through but there was none.

Another thud from the Sentinel.

The light from his staff changed from a glow into a spotlight, moving wildly across the crowd before it came to rest on two particular individuals at the front.

Frelsa placed her right hand on the shoulder of a man blocking her way, "Excuse me, sir, but I must-"

The man seized her hand by the wrist. Her eyes widened as she realised that was the hand with her gedwëy ignasia. The man stared agape at the silvery mark on her hand, before lifting her hand so high she was raised off her feet.

"Rider!"

The Sentinel trained his black visage on her. He thudded his staff one more time.

The crowd burst into turmoil, the people crawling and stampeding over on another in their haste to get away. Frelsa felt Shepherd pushing her into the crowd as the official shouted at them, "Magic Scum!"

She lost Shepherd in the crowd, and was sure she had lost herself. The crowd was a seething mass that squirmed and tossed in turmoil. Everyone seemed to want to reach a different exit. Frelsa thought she spied the man in the white tunic and hooked hood but blinked and he was gone. She searched frantically with her mind, trying to establish contact with Kalla but she was just not there.

Frelsa saw a gap in the crowds that led to a shadowy alleyway and immediately ran for it. She left the crowd behind, sure she would be safe, when she saw him. A red glow appearing in the dark, a white and blue robed figure stepping forth from the dark. He was hooded and indistinguishable from his brethren on the gallows. She entertained the thought that they were both one and same for a moment, before running back into the crowd.

Frelsa was not sure what those Sentinels were, but she did not want to find out. She tried to make her way to the opposite side of the courtyard, jostling and slipping through gaps in the crowd. Those that recognised her screamed and turned tail. She glanced behind her, checking to see if there was anyone following her in the writhing, faceless crowd, before she slammed into a pole.

Cursing, she turned back to the pole and got back up. Then she realised poles were not supposed to be robed in white and blue and carry a golden staff. She looked up and stared up at the black hole in the Sentinel's blue hood. Her vision seemed to zoom in on that black shadow, the throng around her disappearing. She could not bring herself to run away, or even try to resist.

The Sentinel raised one gloved hand to her forehead and laid the palm against her crown. She was powerless as sleep overcame her.

* * *

17-12-13

Someone asked me about the words in the Ancient Language I used in this story and the names of the characters, and asked me to share it in my next chapter. On the words of the Ancient Language I use not found in the books: What I found out about the Ancient Language is that a lot of the words, in fact I think it might be all, are actually Old-Norse words. I used to have an Old Norse dictionary, but couldn't find it and resorted to online dictionaries, which were slightly less reliable but still usable. On the naming of characters: The names for the main characters are not just made up, I found a suitable name for each of them through a few methods. The first was the Old-Norse dictionary, Dýrgrir's name was originally Dýrgripr, literally 'Animal Beast'. This name was confusing to find, because I found that while Dýr means animal, Dyrr could mean dear, precious or door (ancient languages. Go figure). Frelsa's name meant save, owing to her past and how she was saved after washing up on the shores of the island. Kalla's name meant call, or cry out, in reference to one of my earlier plot ideas. The second method was used on Errol, whose name means 'Wandering' in Latin. I chose this name because it was tied to one of the original plots I had where Errol was a wandering dragon whose Rider had been killed long ago. Then the third, and most mysterious method, is for Shepherd and Drukjl. I found their names through careful deduction and study of the movements of planets and stars, years of meticulous work devoted to just the subject of these two names, days spent working non-stop in the observatory... I thought up of those two off the top of my head at 3 am in the morning.

24-12-13

Changed the title of this chapter and moved the original title to the new Chapter, chapter nine.


	9. City of Grudges

He sat back on his old, rickety rocking chair, ancient bones creaking. He could remedy that at any time he wished, but he liked this body just the way it was.

The sound of a door opening reached his ears. He turned and looked to the door. She was here.

"About time you visited."

She pulled up a stool and sat down next to him in his old cabin. "You haven't changed the place a bit since we last met."

"And you haven't aged a year. Now tell me why you are here?"

The Woman exhaled. "You felt it, didn't you?"

"Who among our number didn't?"

"Áqirni certainly has. He's been busy these past few years."

"I know."

A purring reached his ears. He glanced to one side and saw a large, shaggy black cat. He smiled at it and its eyes seemed to twinkle back.

The Woman asked, "What are we going to do? I have only heard from three of the nine of us, excluding you. And of them two, the Twins, have sided with the evil in the North. Moarn remains neutral."

"You mean undecided?"

She did not answer. Neutral was the best that they could hope from Moarn.

He pulled on his long, white beard. The Twins never were ones to follow rules anyway, but this still was grave news. "No word from the others?"

"None at all. I cannot even find them, and I fear that they have all fallen, not in body but in purity of soul."

Their situation was dire. "So there is no hope?"

"There may be," the Woman began. He sighed, he had heard this argument many times, as she continued, "The Riders, they can help us."

"The Riders will not be enough. You remember how he had brought this shattered world together? You and I both felt the ground shake as mountains were razed and valleys filled. How could a few thousand men and dragon face might such as that?"

"Then we strike now, while he is still recovering from his imprisonment!" The Woman exclaimed, slamming her fist into her palm.

The old man shook his head sadly. "You are farsighted, more so than the rest of us were. Tell me what you see?"

She sighed. "There are many futures that could be."

"Tell me the most likely."

Silence.

"Tell me."

"He… will take all for himself."

* * *

Frelsa had strange dreams.

In the one she was currently embroiled in, she ran down a long, winding corridor while someone chased her. That someone was, strangely, a hooded man in blue and white robes, laughing hysterically and spouting random facts about the care of dragon scales. They ran down the corridor and he called at her, "Monthly sand rubs make the scales nice and shiny! Nice and shiny!"

She woke up, bathed in sweat, just as the crazy man's hands closed on her, grasping frantically for Delswoir's hilt. But there was only air. The ground was too hard beneath her. Frelsa looked around and realised she was in a stone room. Wait, not room, prison cell. Thick, black stone surrounded her on three sides and the fourth was a wall of metal bars, most of them rusted. Outside the cell bars was a single wooden chair and a table. A candle on the table was the only light, no sunlight or moonlight reached them, the cell was devoid of any windows.

She tried to rise to her feet but her legs gave way beneath her and she fell hard to the ground beneath her.

"Hurts to stand up, don't it?"

Frelsa turned back to the source of the voice. A man sat at the back of the cell against the wall, a fairly large man with neat brown hair and clothes that had once been fine. She recognised him as Lod and saw Shepherd next to him, snoring away.

"How?"

"It's the Sentinels, they touch you once then your world goes dark. You wake up completely unable to walk or even stand. Just a precaution to make sure you don't escape."

"I mean, how are you still alive? How am I and my friend still alive?"

He gave a chuckle. "That's the thing about these people. They're crazy. They think one of their 'Gods' sent them an omen through you two."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Because you two interrupted my hanging, thanks for that by the way, they took it to mean that their Gods were against my death. So they're keeping us down here until they've come to a verdict on our fates."

Frelsa tried to crawl forward to check if Shepherd was alright, but her legs still refused to obey her. She settled back into her lying position.

"Don't try, girl. I've been thrown in here enough times to learn that the hard way."

She looked out the cell. Past the wooden table was a stairwell that led up and out of this prison. She pointed at the cell door's lock, grasping her magic kite within her mind, and murmured, "Mor'armr."

The lock did not budge, it did not open as it should have. She frowned and tried again. Still nothing.

"No magic, girl?" Lod asked. "Expected of them. Don't want you 'Magic Scum' escaping then running amok through Feinster."

She sat back dejectedly on the bare stone floor.

"Don't worry, girl. If you're lucky, then you'll live here for the rest of your life."

The thought slightly soured her mood. She snapped at the man, "It's Frelsa, not girl."

Then she realised that she had told him her real name. She cursed herself for not using a pseudonym, but Lod only narrowed his eyes. "And my name's King Blynen, now how about your real name, Rider?"

Her heart slowed down slightly. "Why would I tell you?"

"Okay, I'll go first." He cleared his throat and straightened up slightly, "My name's Lod, son of Keol, son of Jeod."

Lod glanced at her. He did not seem to be lying. She replied, "My name is Frelsa, daughter of none."

"You want to play it like that?" He asked. She was about to protest that she was being truthful when he said, "Never mind, didn't really think a Rider would give up her name that easily anyway."

Frelsa returned her attention back to the cell lock, trying to open it again and again. The complete absence of magic within her was unsettling, the mental kite feeling desolate without magic to conduct to her. She heard a sharp cry about curried pug from behind and turned to see Shepherd wide awake.

"Whu…What happened? I had my sword out then that thing touched me then… you!" He exclaimed, pointing at Lod. "You're supposed to be hanged!"

He explained what he had said to Frelsa, adding that Shepherd should not try to get up and walk around. He tried anyway, landing on his rump every time rather humorously.

Shepherd jerked his head towards the door. "Frelsa, open that up or knock it down will you?"

"Can't, no magic."

He frowned and concentrated for a while, saying something under his breathe, before he gave up and resigned to the truth.

As Lod seemed to know quite a lot about their captors, Frelsa asked him, "So what's up with this town and magic?"

"Yeah, and those what's-their-names, Sentinels, is it?"

Lod nodded. "You seek the reason behind these peoples animosity for magic? I'll tell you. 70 years or so back, during the war between the Varden and the Old Empire, the rebels laid siege against this city. And leading the charge was the only Rider and dragon besides the old king."

She winced and tried to shut out the memories of her masters.

"So the siege is mostly one sided, the Varden push through the streets, they get to the Keep and go in to get Lady Lorana, lady of Feinster at the time, but then word is that the spell casters up in the keep are performing one last spell in an effort to save their city from the Varden." He leaned forward slightly. "They made a Shade."

Frelsa paled at the name. Shades were among the greatest and deadliest threats she had been taught of. Slaying them was a feet not many undertook, and even fewer could boast of doing it.

"The Shade was dealt with in time. Now we continue our story in Belatona. During the siege of the Varden. The siege goes well for them, until an unexpected complication. The castle doors open and a man rides out on a horse, wielding a green lance. No one knows why, but this lance was deadly to dragons. He managed to wound the dragon on the Varden's side before his throat was torn out by one of the elves."

"Now one of the spell casters that made the Shade in Feinster was the mother of a child, Vagurn. And it just so happened that his father, was in the defence of Belatona, a particular rider who rode out with a green lance. Now Vagurn was a spiteful being, and many don't blame him. His mother and father were killed and he was orphaned by war, and life as an orphan gave this man the tenacity to rise in importance throughout our hierarchy here in Feinster, he eventually became Lord. He had a son, before his wife ran away with a magician and his father was assassinated. By magic."

Lod paused to let those words sink in. "So Vagurn's son is orphaned just as his father was, he grows twice as spiteful but instead directs his anger at one thing. Magic. He reasoned that it was because of magic that his grandmother lost her life. His grandfather would have done his job and the war might've gone in a different direction if not for the elves and their magic. His mother was seduced by a life on the arm of a magician, and his father was slayed through it. He gets to the rank of Lord quickly, all opposition mysteriously falling dead from food poisoning. He declares independence of Feinster and bans all magic and magi, promising that their kind will be eradicated from this world in time and their city will be a 'Gleaming Sun, towards which all humankind shall endeavour to reflect'."

Frelsa was beginning to understand this man's plight, and even sympathise slightly. His entire lineage had been decimated by magic, she felt he rightly had a hatred for it.

Lod picked up a loose rock and started fiddling with it. "Things were starting to look bright, that's why I moved here. But after a month, problems began to appear. The gangs were back in power, thieves were rampant. Even the rubble in the streets, I'm sure you've seen it, hasn't been cleared up. The piles of ruin have been there since the Siege 70 years past. Independence was not looking so good for the people of Feinster. But then the lockdown started, all gates were closed. No civilians were allowed to go out of the city. All boats restricted to port, even the _Dragon Wing_ I got from my father. Sentinels started showing up, strange hooded men walking up and down the streets with their strange staffs, accompanied by soldiers. The Sentinels would weed out the magic users, even those who did not know they were, and the soldiers would 'escort' them back here to the Keep. They're never heard from again. But even after that, the people in here became convinced that our Lord is the saviour of our kind from the 'plague that is magic.'"

She did not like the sound of that.

"Our lord became more reclusive, rarely going out. He took the name 'Neoettr'. The lockdown was lifted, but the Sentinels never left, the hooded things' presence subvertig the people and anyone who stayed too long in the city. I keep indoors most of the time and thankfully don't suffer much from it, as did a few others. They are the lucky ones. Would have left by now if they did not pay me more here than anywhere else for the services of my ship. That's one of the reasons this city hasn't fallen to the gangs yet, the money never seems to stop flowing."

Mournful howling reached Frelsa's ears, and by the way it echoed she realised it was coming from nearby, a nearby cell at least. "Are those… wolves?"

"They'd want you to think they are," Lod replied with a smile.

She sat against the rusty bars and listened to the howling for a few minutes. Soon, it ended, followed by a few whiny whimpers which were undoubtedly from a wolf, before it ended altogether, followed by voices.

"Forget it, pack-brother. They're not going to fall for that trick again. Not after what happened to that short fellow of theirs."

"You just had to bite him didn't you?"

"I was so hungry!"

"Well now, because of that stomach of yours, we're going to die here. Great going, hot head."

"Call me that one more time, you mangy mutt."

"Fine…hot head."

A series of grunts and scuffling ensued, which soon turned to canine snarls and snapping jaws. A voice, probably from another prisoner, shouted, "Shut up, magic demons! Some of us normal humans are trying to enjoy our last few hours."

The two arguing beings snarled, before the area fell into silence again.

* * *

Drukjl sat on the rock glumly, sliding a whetstone down the edge of his copper axe. The stone did not really do anything to the brightsteel edge whatsoever, but the action was familiar to him, comforting even. It reminded him of a simpler time before he joined the Riders.

He raised the copper coloured axe, Zhâda, literally 'Doom' in his language, and inspected the edge. Razor sharp as ever. He had to admit, though he missed the old life in the clan, this life was much better. Back in the clan, he was known only as the Son of the Chief, great things were expected from him the moment he was born, and when the Old Blood of the Kull was found to run in his veins, even greater expectations rose. He needed to be the strongest, the fastest, the greatest, the best. When the strange Elf came with the dragon eggs to let the children be chosen by one, Dýrgrir immediately hatched as he lay his hand on it. The little brown dragon had delivered him from a life of expectation and great responsibilities, and he had to admit that he was grateful for it.

Dýrgrir sniffed the air, entertained for a moment by a strange smell, before Kalla spoke, _Something's gone wrong._

"What has happened?" He asked.

The green dragon narrowed her emerald eyes in concentration. _I was talking to Frelsa just a moment ago, then she just vanished._

_Vanished?_ Errol asked. He had seemed rather uncomfortable for a while after returning from his hunt, seemingly unsuccessful.

_She just disappeared._

"Do not worry, Green-Scales, to speak with another over that great a distance is something not meant for us to have mastered yet."

_There are bound to be complications if you do so_, Dýrgrir finished.

_I suppose,_ Kalla said uncertainly, staring off in the direction of the human city. He was glad that she seemed to be feeling another emotion now besides sorrow, even if it was worry for her Rider.

Drukjl picked up a dry branch and chopped straight through it with Zhâda, halving the wood. Then he quartered it, then made an eighth of it. He had planned to continue and amuse himself as such, before Dýrgrir reached out a claw and pulverized all the pieces of wood. The Urgal looked up at the brown dragon above him, who seemed to radiate amusement. _I thought you were trying to make the wood into as small pieces as possible?_

Dýrgrir and he always conversed in his native language when they spoke in their minds. It was the first language either of them learnt. Drukjl replied, _I was trying to test my skill and precision with Zhâda, but unfortunately a certain dragon has ruined my challenge._

His dragon made that sound in his throat whenever he laughed.

Even after several hours, when the Sun began to dip, Kalla was still uncomfortable, kneading the dirt between her claws and she kept on turning back towards Feinster. She was obviously very concerned for her Rider.

_How long does it take to charter a ship?_ She asked irritably.

_Not long, if luck favours you. But with Shepherd, who knows?_ Dýrgrir chuckled. Errol laughed along, but it seemed slightly forced.

Kalla got up off the ground and began to pace the clearing, occasionally swiping one claw through a pile of leaves in frustration. She growled, saying, _I can't take it anymore. I'm going after those two._

_ A fool's errand_, Dýrgrir remarked, barely shifting from his position on the ground next to his Rider, who could not help but agree.

"The human city has many defences, more than enough to slay three young dragons."

_I'm hardly a hatchling_, she snapped back even as she began to spread her wings. Drukjl raised an eyebrow. Surely she was joking about going to Feinster. It was an old city, but still had more than enough power in its walls.

_Come on, Kalla, trust in our Riders,_ Errol pleaded. Drukjl felt how heartened Dýrgrir was that the grey dragon had actually sided with them. Even he, who usually agreed with Kalla, could sense the folly in her proposed mission.

His words gave the green dragon pause, before she answered, _I do trust in them. I trust that they would have performed their duties by now. I know they would have. But they have not._

Drukjl got to his feet in alarm as the green dragon took off, the gale she left in her wake sending the leaves in the clearing swirling around and into faces and eyes. The Urgal spat out a dry leaf and mounted Dýrgrir, who did not need to be told what to do.

_Come, Errol!_ The brown dragon instructed.

_Kalla, come back!_ Was the only response.

They left the treeline behind, rising into the dusk air. Dýrgrir flew straight and true for Kalla, Errol undoubtedly behind. The city of Feinster was a dark shadow on the horizon.

_Stop this madness and return, Kalla! _Dýrgrir blasted.

_I'll return when they have._

_ They'll shoot you down!_

_ They can try,_ she replied grimly. Drukjl knew there was no convincing her. They would have to stop her through force.

They were nearing Feinster now, and Kalla was far too fast for Dýrgrir or Errol to catch up to. They were barely keeping pace as it was. Feinster grew ever larger as Dýrgrir strained to catch up.

_Please don't go,_ Errol pleaded.

_You should be on my side!_ She retorted. _It's your Rider down there t-_

She gave a roar of pain and the sparkle of her scales shining in the last of the Sunlight veered off to the left.

_Drukjl, what did you do!_ Errol screamed in fear as he dived down after Kalla.

_I did not do anything!_ He protested, but the grey dragon barely heard, he was zooming down to where Kalla had fallen. Drukjl realised that they were dangerously close to Feinster.

Another roar of pain, this time from Errol, and he veered off to another direction.

_Hold on, brother!_ Dýrgrir roared as he dived down to Errol who lay immobile on the ground.

As they neared, Drukjl realised with horror that the reason for Errol's immobility was the weighted net of strong rope that covered his figure. He trashed in the rope, entangling himself even further, and roared back at them, _No… no help Kalla first!_

_ But-_

_ Go!_

Drukjl was about to protest but his dragon took flight again and took a sharp turn towards where Kalla had fallen. The green dragon did not thrash at all, instead squirming about like a worm, wings pressed close to her body. Drukjl dismounted and saw that instead of a net there was a single long length of thick chain wrapped around Kalla, the ends attached to heavy cannonballs. A giant bola. He glared for a moment in the direction of Feinster.

Dýrgrir crawled forward and tried to break the chains with his teeth while Drukjl hacked at the weaker links with Zhâda, but even though they were weaker they were still a challenge to part. He heard the sound of wrenching metal and turned to see Dýrgrir with a recently bitten through chain in his teeth.

There was a snapping branch behind him and Drukjl spun around to see a cohort of figures approaching. He reached out with his mind to incapacitate those he could, or at least glean their purpose, but found that he could not project his thoughts. No matter. He could still just as easily slay these fools with Zhâda and Dýrgrir at his side.

One of the figures lifted a blowpipe to his lips and blew. Drukjl felt a sting on his neck and immediately reached up to pull the dart out. Why had the dart passed through his wards so easily?

Dýrgrir roared and pounced, seizing one of the humans and snapping straight through the man's abdomen with his tusk like teeth. Drukjl tried to lift Zhâda and charge forward, bellowing with might, but the axe felt like a thousand weights had been attached to his hand. The bellow came out as a meek and confused purr. The dart's poison worked fast, quickly slowing down his reaction time and dulling his instincts. He guessed that it was a tranquiliser of some sort.

Kalla was still struggling to free herself from the rope which though snapped in one section, was overlapped and layered so many times that that one break was all but useless. A roar came from Errol's direction. Thankfully Dýrgrir was holding off the hunting party.

He batted aside a soldier like a puppet, and used his tail to send another flying. His prey was defenceless against him, which was until they realised that his snout was devoid of the hardened scales of dragons. A spear immediately found its mark in his muzzle. The sight of blood leaking from his dragon spurred Drukjl on, and he stumbled forward, barely able to hold Zhâda up.

_Help Kalla, I'll- _

A rope lasso thrown by one of the hunters fell over Dýrgrir's head and slipped as snugly as a noose around his neck. The hunter yanked hard and the brown dragon was barely pulled back. He growled at the man with the lasso and lunged forward to disembowel him, just as another lasso closed around his right foreleg. The second lassoer pulled back on his rope, yanking Dýrgrir in the opposite direction. He roared at him, just as another rope fell around his neck.

Drukjl could only watch, dazed, as his dragon was subdued. The last lasso fell over his back legs, the dragon tried to crane his neck down to bite through the ropes but the hunters would pull back on their ropes, painfully stretching him in all directions and subverting him. The hunters had formed a large ring around the dragon and there were so many that even Dýrgrir's strength could not best them all. One of them saw the dazed Urgal staggering towards them and shouted, "The Urgal! Someone get the beast!"

One or two hunters left the ring of lassoers, drawing swords and bows, before Dýrgrir began to thrash, yanking on all ropes at once. The two hunters quickly withdrawed to the ring and pulled on their lassos to subvert the dragon once more. He stared at his Rider with his amber eyes, almost golden in the last rays of the setting Sun._ Run!_

Drukjl would have protested any other time, but with the tranquiliser in his body even a young Urgal such as him grew docile and meek, graciously obeying his dragon's order, staggering somewhat quickly into the dark.

* * *

Frelsa did not know how much time passed before the guards came down.

They sat there in their stony cell in silence. She would have liked to have a private discussion with Shepherd, Lod's presence was slightly unnerving, but she found that she could not even project her mind to have a mental conversation with her fellow Rider. She sat on the hard, slightly mossy, floor, eyes fixed on the lock, waiting for that one spark of magic to open it.

She was so focused on the lock that she did not realise that they had visitors. Real, natural light flooded down the stairwell and the sound of boots falling heavily on stone echoed down, followed by laughing.

Three guards came down the stairs, the front two holding a tiny figure between them. They laughed and jeered at each other as the tiny figure was pushed along in silence.

As they passed their cell, Frelsa saw that the tiny figure was a child, the one she had seen with a fat purse in each hand and running across the roofs with a posse of fellow children. The child was young, maybe six or seven, but his eyes had that mischievous light in them that once he passed you would quickly check if your purse was still there.

The howling had resumed again. The trio of guards were not perturbed, one of them yelling, "Shut up, you stupid dogs!" The howling stopped, replaced by snarls and snaps, followed by the laughing of the three.

The guards escorted the child down a few more cells or so by the sound and shoved him into one, locking the gate. One of the guards lingered a bit, "Sorry about this, kid. Orders from the top."

"It's okay." The voice sounded so innocent and pure Frelsa doubted that it was the same child she had seen with the stolen purses.

"Believe me, if I could I'd never put you down here with these Magic Scum. No one deserves that." His voice actually sounded sincerely sad, Frelsa wondered to what extent had the Lord and his Sentinels brainwashed the citizens, if Lod had told the truth.

The three guards stopped outside of their cell, laughing at a joke about a girl named Janette and a bartender. The ringleader, obvious by how his armour was slightly less dull and he wore a plumed helmet, most of the horse hair on it long gone, pulled a large key ring adorned with countless old rings off his belt and found the one corresponding to their cell. He unlocked the grate and pushed the door open.

"Hello there, wonderful afternoon, huh Magic Heathen?" Called one of the guards outside, smiling lopsidedly from behind his helmet.

He laughed and crossed the cell to Lod who sat at the back. "It's your lucky day, merchant. These two that stopped your hanging have shown that the Gods don't want you dead, yet."

The Ringleader yanked Lod to his feet and shoved him out the cell, following close behind. He paused when he was next to Frelsa, turning slowly towards her. "Now this one's a pretty one for a Heathen ain't she?"

"Hey, no fooling around with the prisoners," warned one of his fellow guards, but by the tone he was obviously not opposed to what could happen next.

The Ringleader knelt down in front of her. She tried to back up but her legs, stretched out before her, barely responded. He reached forward and brushed a speck of dirt off her shoulder. "My, my, they've treated you badly haven't they?"

She pushed the hand away and tried to push him away but her arms still felt weak. He edged a bit closer. One of the guards outside, by the voice the one who had apologised to the thief-child, said, "We should go, don't want someone coming down here to check on us. Let's just get this fat man out of here and be done with it."

"Yeah, magic gets really dangerous when it's too near to skin, "the other guard said. "Especially, ahem, certain sensitive areas."

Despite the laughs of the guard outside, the Ringleader just kept on inching closer. "She can't be _that _bad, look at how pretty a girl she is."

He was now close enough she could count the scars on his face and smell the ale on his breathe. He gave off a fetid stink that made her gag, but he merely grinned stupidly. She struggled to move her legs, and they responded.

Unknown to any of them, an unintentional side effect of the Sentinel's magic were violent spasms the first few times anyone would try to use their limbs, especially legs. And in this case both Frelsa's legs were situated beneath the fork of the Ringleader's.

He screamed, loudly, staggering away with both hands pressed to his groin, eyes scrunched up. The Ringleader stumbled out the cell and fell to the ground, face pressed against the stone floor. One of his companions locked the cell door and latched the key ring onto his belt while the other was roaring with laughter. Lod bent over laughing before the laughing guard pinned his arms behind his back painfully, all the while laughing so hard that tears ell from his eyes..

"See what I said?" Asked the guard holding Lod.

"Shut up!"

"Come on, man," said the other guard, supporting the Ringleader, "Let's get some ice on that-wow. She dented your armour there."

"Just hurry up and-" he yelped, voice several octaves higher, "-get me out of this pit."

As they disappeared up the stairwell, the Ringleader called down one last time, "You Magic Bitch!"

The flood of golden light disappeared, leaving them with only the meagre light of the candle once more. Shepherd looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"It was an accident," she defended. In truth it was.

"Uh-huh."

She managed to scoot closer to him so they would not disturb any of their fellow prisoners with any conversation. Thankfully her legs did not spasm anymore. He chuckled, "That was one good kick you nailed him with."

"I told you it was an accident. Try moving your own legs."

He concentrated for a moment, before one of his legs kicked so high it nearly struck her in the head. She gave a chuckle as he clutched his leg muscles with pain. "Argh! I didn't even… know it could stretch that high."

"Well now you do."

He lay in pain for a few minutes, before he sat up again, nostrils flared as he breathed hard.

She settled back against her wall. "How are we going to get out of here, Shepherd? No magic, no mind, no weapons. Just about anything that makes us a Rider."

"And this is what it feels like to be human," Shepherd stated.

If this was what it felt like to be normal Frelsa was glad she became a Rider. She felt so useless, so weak and vulnerable. With Kalla's presence not by her side she felt like a part of her body had been amputated, she just could go on like that. The thought that Kalla was still out there, somewhere, kept her sane. Shepherd consoled, "At least Drukjl's still out there, with our dragons. Sooner or later they will come for us."

She nodded glumly. Then a thought came back to her, "Remember back in the clearing, we were talking about moving on, then you said something about a pact between Drukjl and you."

"We did it years ago, back when we first came to this island. The two of us swore to each other not to mourn the other's death."

"Why?" In her mind it was much better to be remembered in a funeral.

"I know that look, Frelsa. You think I'm crazy. Well, the reason was that, remember back when we first got into our class? We had to attend some Rider and his dragon's funeral."

She remembered. Their bodies were laid in a casket and cast out to sea, and by the dragon's insistence, the raft was not lit alight. Apparently many of them believed that the death of a great hunter should in turn be sustenance for another hunter. She saw a flurry of waves at the raft once it was out to sea, then something pulled it under and it was lost. She had cried to herself, hidden among the rows of Riders honouring their fallen brothers.

"Well, the two of us really hated that sappy, teary stuff. We figured it would be better to honour the other through our actions, or in his words, 'glory in battle'."

* * *

She wondered how Drukjl was doing, how their dragons were going. Whether they had formulated a plan to save them, or if they were already doing it.

Drukjl woke up in a ship's hold. He looked around in confusion, he could only remember staggering away from Dýrgrir and Kalla as the brown dragon was lassoed down and then- Dýrgrir! He tried to reach out with his mind but could not. He struggled to his feet and found Zhâda buried in a wooden post nearby. He wrenched it out, glad to find his strength had returned.

There was the sound of rusty hinges moving, he turned as light flooded down the stairway down into the hold. A large man walked leisurely down the steps, a brown haired human dressed in disgusting clothes. The kind that humans deemed 'beautiful'.

He was engrossed in a scroll in his hands, turning away from Drukjl and examining a few crates, opening them to reveal rolls of chain. He tutted, "Ah, stupid man. Why did you get these?"

Drukjl advanced and placed one hand on the man's shoulder. He barely flinched. "Bran? Shouldn't you be back in the city? We don't set sail till-"

"A word, human."

His body tensed up. "You're not Bran, are you?"

"No."

"Are you human?"

"No."

He sighed and looked up at the wooden ceiling. "I just got thrown from prison and you send this guy to kill me? Well screw you too, crazy Gods."

"Prison?" Drukjl asked. That would be the logical place that they would keep Frelsa and Shepherd if they had been captured. "Did you see two young humans, one male and one female?"

"Yes…"

Drukjl sighed. "I am not here to kill you human. I myself do not know how I got into this ship's hold."

"You mean MY ship's hold." He did not turn around.

"Be at ease, human," he said as he turned the large man around and showed him the silvery mark on his palm.

The man's eyes widened. "You're… you're…"

"A Rider, like my two companions you saw."

"But you're… an Urgal."

"And you're a human, that is obvious, now tell me about my allies."

The man still seemed quite intimidated, babbling out, "I-I was going to be hanged, then your two friend's got caught by the Sentinels."

"Sentinels?"

"Hooded men in robes, carrying big golden staffs. They find magic."

Drukjl had a feeling that they were connected to his absence of magic. "So about my allies?"

"Uh… yeah, I got thrown in the same cell as them. Spent a few hours there or so before they pulled me out."

"Why?"

"Some stupid superstitions or whatnot."

Drukjl turned around and headed for the stairs up to the deck. The man called, "Wouldn't do that if I were you, the Sentinels are out on the docks with the guards right now, looking for an intruder."

He grunted, "How did they know I was here?"

"Hah! How could they not? I did not believe my crew's stories at first, it seems that they were drinking a bit on deck when a huge shadow walked up the gangway plank and stood on the deck for a few minutes before he disappeared into the hold. Gave them a right fright, sent all of them running to the Sentinels. Can't really blame them though."

Drukjl spun Zhâda expertly in his hands. "I need to get to my allies, or our dragons at least."

"Dragons? How many?"

"Three. All of them were hunted down last night."

The human nodded, "Your dragons dangerous?"

"You have no idea."

The man put aside his scroll and smoothed back a portion of his brown hair. "In that case, Lord Neoettr would want to parade them down the streets, all chained up and caged."

"Surely the people would not stand for such injustice?" Drukjl asked, outraged. Even humans could not stoop so low.

"You don't know these men."

Drukjl continued up the steps. "So I shall slay these Sentinels and any men between me and my dragon."

The man rushed up and grabbed Drukjl, pulling him back before he exited onto the deck. He hissed, "I won't let a Rider die before me! You can't hope to fight these Sentinels."

"Watch me!" He growled.

"No, I've got a better idea."

"What?" He asked. Truthfully, if Shepherd and Frelsa got captured he did not think he would stand much chance.

The man turned to the crate which was filled to the brim with chains.

* * *

The streets were crowded, unusually so. Their city was a city of order and peace, not much interesting happened and most were happy with that. But these had been an eventful few days. Citizens of Feinster lined the streets, jostling and shouting for space to see the new magic scum brought in from beyond the walls. The fetid stench of the streets and drains was amplified several times into a rank, horrid odour. Strange, wild children were seen darting through the crowd, slipping through gaps, always leaving a trail of outraged adults with missing purses.

"Today's a good day for the Sentinels," one man remarked to his wife.

"Yes, they've brought in more than the usual scum haven't they?"

The crowd was rife with rumours and gossip on what had been caught lurking outside the walls. The town criers had only spoken of 'great beasts' and 'horrid examples of the magical plague'.

"They say its Dwarves," whispered one citizen.

"No, Elves more likely," hissed another.

There was a grinding noise and the crowd fell silent. A rattle of chains, the rolling of wheels, and some great shape turned onto the road.

The citizens were silently awestruck for a moment, passing down the road, a procession of three cages on wheels drawn by huge oxen, each with a huge, savage beast inside. Dragons.

Behind the thick iron bars of the first cage was a green monster, the size of a war horse at least. The beast was chained to the four corners of its cage and thrashed uselessly against the thick bars. The crowd had found its voice again, men, women and children alike picking trash off the floor and flinging it at the beasts. The green dragon roared at them and the crowd around it fell back for a moment, before they returned with redoubled vengeance.

The second cage had a monster the colour of copper, chained in a similar fashion to the first. It snapped on its chains and a gasp passed along the crowd, before they realised that even its teeth had not left a dent on the links. It bared its wicked fangs at the humans around it but the hail of trash did not relent.

The third cage held a grey dragon, grey as steel. This one slammed its body against the sides of its cage, shaking the cage and threatening to tip it over, but for all its strength and weight it could not. A glass bottle smashed against its snout and it tried to flare its wings to scare them, before it realised its wings were chained against it body.

All three of the beasts were covered in thousands of hard scales that reflected the sunlight into a harsh, ghastly glow that burned the eyes of those who lingered too long. The crowd closed the trail left by the procession, immersing the cages in a sea of jeering humans.

A roar from behind. Every head turned to look at what had made such a threatening bellow. From where the procession of cages had come, a tall figure stumbled forward. He was six feet tall, at least, horns spiralled out from his skull on either side. He wore no clothes save a war skirt of hide and goat horn. He gazed at the crowd on either side with hatred and rage in his eyes. Four men surrounded him, each holding a chain that connected to a limb of the Urgal, while a fifth, a large, brown-haired man in fine clothes, led them forth. The Urgal roared again as one of the men yanked too hard on the chain, the man who had commited the act looked ready to drop the chain and turn tail, but held fast.

One man in the crowd shouted, "Kill him! Kill the beast!"

Few of them had even seen an Urgal before but there were more than enough stories of their savagery. Others shouted in agreement, thirsty for the blood of this monster.

The man in fine clothes stepped forward, raising one hand for silence. He grabbed the Urgal's right hand and held it high, revealing a silvery mark on his palm. The crowd's cries for deaths soon fell silent. They shrunk back from the Urgal, not daring to come closer. No matter how much they wanted to kill this thing their fear for magic would win out. Magic was the Prime Evil in their eyes.

The crowd dared not utter a word as the Urgal passed, following in the wake of the dragon procession. The four monsters were led under the scrutinising eyes of the crowd, all the way into the keep.

* * *

Time did not exist where they were. Down in the dank, dark prisons, their only time was measured by the size of the candle. Frelsa had not noticed it before but now she did, the air was stale and nigh on impossible to breathe. She felt that if she went to sleep she would never wake up. Shepherd had no such qualms, he was already snoring away peacefully.

The candle had gone out again, casting them into darkness. Frelsa hated the dark, wherever it existed. But now, even more so, it reminded her of the journey under the island, into the dark with Eragon and Saphira…

No, she cast the thoughts out of her head. She would not succumb to despair. At least she found some comfort in knowing that her fellow Rider was only a few feet away.

They lay in the dark for so long, she had given up hope that one of the soldiers would come down with a new candle and light. Since the accident with the Ringleader, no soldiers had dared to come into the prisons. The thought gave her some satisfaction.

No prisoners dared to make a sound, almost fearful of disrupting this all-consuming dark and silence.

A faint rattling, barely audible. She paid it no heed. The prisoners often tested the locks on their doors, they never succeeded. The rattling lasted much shorter though, before silence reigned. As usual.

She stared at where the lock for her cage would have been in the dark, wondering if she had enough magic left in her to open it, when a shadow passed over it.

_Strange._ There was a patch of darkness that seemed even darker, a faint outline of a small figure. She moved closer and wrapped her hands around the bars, trying to look into the dark.

Something metallic poked her in the nose. She recoiled, as someone whispered, "Sorry."

She knew that voice. "Thief-boy?"

"What? That's not my name."

Definitely the boy. How had he gotten out? She asked him, "What just poked my nose?"

"That was my lock pick," he whispered back. So that's how he got out. Maybe he could get them out too.

"You're different, aren't you?" He asked in hushed tones.

She nodded furiously, even though she knew he couldn't see. "I'm a Rider, me and my friend in this cell."

She remembered Lod's words and realised what a stupid decision it was. This boy might very well run away. But instead he asked, "But that means you're magic? Then why are you so nice?"

Frelsa saw another opportunity, "Not all of us magic users are evil. We Riders help other people with our magic."

"That's not what He says." 'He' undoubtedly referred to Lord Neoettr.

"Well, He is wrong." She prayed for the best.

After a moment, the boy answered, "You are nice magic scum, I like you. I'll help you."

She nearly whooped for joy, but realised that would probably alert any guards above. As the lock rattled slightly, she crawled back to Shepherd and roused him, explaining the situation hurriedly. Soon after, there was the soft screech of rusty hinges. The boy's indistinct silhouette beckoned. "The guards will come down soon."

She helped Shepherd to his feet and staggered after the boy, her legs still a bit unresponsive.

"Come on, magic scum."

"How about the rest of the prisoners?" Shepherd asked. "Surely we can help them?"

"Pick's broken." There was a sound like a metal object falling to the floor. "We can come back later, magic scum."

"We're not all scum," Frelsa answered as she struggled to clamber up the dark steps.

"You're not?" He sounded geniuinely confused. She felt sorry for all the others in the city who had been raised to hate her and her ilk.

"No, my name is Frelsa."

"And mine's Dog," he replied proudly.

She nearly tripped over the boy when they had reached the top of the stairs. "Dog? Did your parents name you that?"

"We don't have parents. 'We make our names and make our futures'. My sister told me so."

She was about to inquire further when the door was flung open, blinding her with golden light. When her eyes had adjusted to the brightness she lowered her arm and saw a very confused soldier there, mouth agape. "Wha?"

Shepherd lunged forward and slammed his palm into the man's face. He staggered back and Dog skipped around to behind him, then promptly pushed him down the dark stairs into the prison cells. He carefully shut the door and locked it, revealing a ring of keys. Frelsa was amazed, the boy barely laid hands on the guard for more than a second. She asked in admiration, "How'd you do that?"

"I'm a special Dog."

Shepherd tapped her on the shoulder. "Sorry to ruin the moment, but we're stuck in a keep stuffed to the brim with Sentinels and guards, how exactly are we going to get out?"

* * *

"An Urgal? That's news."

Drukjl had been the subject of continuous scrutiny. Humans in dented and dirty armour looked him up and down. Dýrgrir and the other dragons had been carted off to another section of the keep, and Drukjl would have followed if not for the men blocking his way. He checked and felt Zhâda's handle beneath the folds of his clothing.

"Where did you say you found him?" asked one of the soldiers, this one armoured in a full face helmet with a plume of red feathers.

"Outside the walls," answered the brown haired man, he had told Drukjl that his name was Lod. He seemed trustworthy enough, for a human.

"And what business did you have there?"

"Uh…"

"We caught him sneaking near the docks, real sneaky like," finished one of the men who had held the chains that bound Drukjl.

The soldier asked, "You say you are sailors?"

"Yes sir, the lot of us, we-"

"Ho-ho-ho-hold up." Another soldier joined the scene, this one without a helmet. He pointed at Lod. "Weren't you that fellow who was on the gallows? Yesterday or the day before, am I right?"

"Yes, he does look like him," answered the first human, scratching his chin. Which looked pretty silly considering that his chin was hidden behind his helmet.

"I am afraid you are right," Lod lamented with stage-worthy despair, "I was apprehended recently."

"Arson, Perjury, Defamation, Piracy," the second guard recited. "And that's not all."

"I meant to say, apprehended recently due to a minor misunderstanding."

Drukjl's hand slid slowly to where Zhâda was hidden.

"You are right, my good sirs. This beast here-" Lod picked up one chain and pulled on it for effect. "Is an offering of sorts, to sweeten my relations with our Lord once again."

The second guard was unconvinced, but the first gestured at them impatiently. "There's a seat at the Blue Dragon with my name on it, so hurry up and bring him down to the cells."

The second raised one hand, "Hold it, someone call down a Sentinel."

"No need for that," the first human said.

"But-"

"Hurry up, Hangman," he said to Lod, the stout man wincing at the name, "the world don't wait on you."

Lod nodded and gestured for the four men to hurry up. He knew the place well, it seemed, leading them down a large corridor.

Drukjl grunted, "Would you tell your men to loosen their holds on the chains? It is mildly uncomfortable."

The men, all trusted mates of Lod, glanced fearfully at their captain, who gestured at them. Drukjl sighed as he was given enough room to stretch a bit.

"What are we even getting for this?" asked one of them, eyeing Drukjl warily.

"I told you, you'll get larger shares the next job. You shouldn't be wanting for anything, after you got me that crate of chain."

"Hey, they said it was textiles, how was I supposed to know different?"

"Hold up! Sentinel!"

Drukjl was still unfamiliar with the word, but from the way they spoke it these Sentinels were humans treated with a great level of respect and reverence. Perhaps fear.

A blue and white robed figure moved silently down the corridor, four blue tails of fabric trailing behind him. His attire was peculiar, to say the least. As his human escort lowered their heads as the tall figure walked by, the robed human turned towards them. Drukjl glanced once at where the human's face should have been and saw nothing but darkness, a swirling pool of shadows that drew him towards it. He was stuck in place, unable to move, captivated on that darkness until a tug on one of his chains brought him back to reality. Lod whispered fearfully, "Don't look them in the eye, you won't be able to look away."

Drukjl nodded, still unsettled by the human who had disappeared behind them. He was not sure that the thing even was human.

"The prison's coming up."

A large, brown wooden door with a black iron padlock. Lod tested it, the door barely budged. Drukjl shook off the chains, which were about as sturdy as bonds made of dry grass, and drew Zhâda. "Step aside, human."

He swung the brown axe in an underhand stroke, the brightsteel blade gutting the innards of the lock. He withdrew it and struck again for good measure, before opening the door. Past the door, there was a flight of stairs leading down

"Frelsa? Shepherd?" He asked. No response. He turned back to Lod, "Are you sure these are the cells?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. The candle must have burnt out some time ago."

Drukjl gestured dismissively, "Take your men and leave. You have done your work, now I must do mine."

He did not even glance behind as he walked down the steps.

The dark was unsettling, but not unbearably so. He walked down the steps with difficulty in the dark and stepped on something soft at the bottom. He trodded on it a few more times to investigate, and when he elicited a groan, he guessed that it must be a sleeping guard. Or an unconscious one.

The Urgal needed light to do his work and produced a flint and steel. He never was good at magic and still preferred doing simple tasks like lighting a fire the old way. Drukjl found a table and had retrieved an unburnt candle from the sleeping soldier. His best guess was that the soldier had been sent down to replace the candle but had fallen down the stairs and been knocked unconscious.

With a lit candle in hand, he walked down the row of cells. Most of the prisoners seemed like regular humans, but he knew enough to know that magic hid itself well. There were many humans, dwarves and even a plant. Passing two feral wolf-like dogs snapping at each other in the last cell, he found that Frelsa and Kalla were not here. He double checked, the triple checked, before ascertaining that no Riders were here save him.

"Hey Urgal."

He turned to the sound of the voice. In the last cell, where he had seen the two snapping wolf-dogs, were two men, dressed in tattered, rough spun tunics.

"Mind opening these cells? I've got an aching for the Sun on me skin and the wind in my fur."

This man was strange, he and his companion had a wild fire in their eyes, their hair was more of a wild halo of black fur and they had a strange, musky dog-like smell.

Drukjl twirled Zhâda in his hands. "Perhaps, if you can tell me a few things, human."

"What 'cha wanna know? What 'cha wanna know?" he asked frantically. These two were very desperate for freedom.

"From this cell, we can see everythin' that goes in and out of this place," said the other human.

"Two humans, a girl and a boy, seventeen winters old each."

"You mean the Riders?"

He had hoped to keep that a secret. "Yes, the Riders, were they here?"

"Sure were, gone now though. Not before giving one of the guards a few bruises to remember."

He laughed a strange, yipping laugh at his friend.

Drukjl got up, then remembered his deal to free them. He swung Zhâda and cleaved the rusty lock in twain with one blow.

Immediately, a chorus of yells began. Every prisoner began shouting to him to free them, their yells echoing painfully around his head.

By the end of two minutes, every cell's lock was broken, even those without prisoners. You could tell which ones were the regular humans though, they remained in their cells, huddled with knees drawn up to their chests.

Drukjl turned to thank the two wild men who had given him the information but no one was there. He looked into the seething mass of escapees and thought he saw two black furred wolf-dogs at the front, leading the charge into the keep.

* * *

24-12-13

Sorry for releasing this chapter so late. I have been occupied these past few days with a neat little present from my brother, namely Assassin's Creed 4. I've finished the game so I should be able to concentrate more on the story. And please, please leave a review. I have this ever nagging feeling that I might be on the wrong road for this story so any advice at all would help, or even a little comment to tell me I'm on the right track.


	10. Number Seven

A scream of pain from behind.

"What's that?" Frelsa asked. The sound was full of pain and anguish, followed soon after by another scream.

"Would rather not find out," Shepherd muttered. "Come on."

"Dog, we have to get our swords, do you know where they keep them?" She asked the little boy.

He twiddled with his thumbs. His body always seemed to be in motion, never resting for a moment. "Your swords? I know, they are kept in that room!"

"What room?" She asked as the boy shot down the hall.

"I show you!"

They raced down the hall, turning and winding down the intricate passages within the keep.

Frelsa turned a corner with Shepherd, struggling to keep Dog in sight, but found nothing but air where the child should have been. She stared down the empty hallway.

"Dog!" Shepherd hissed. Nothing answered. Another scream echoed from far away.

"Dog!" He called again. Still no answer. Where had the boy gone?

"Okay," He started, turning around even as he spoke, "We backtrack up until the last crossroads, then we-"

Frelsa turned and saw a tall figure blocking their way, a Sentinel. He stared at them with the dark plane of shadow that was his face. He held his staff forth and a red light seemed to emanate from the seven rings.

"Don't look at their… faces!" She commanded Shepherd, turning away remembering her experience at the city square, but it was too late, his eyes had glazed over and seemed to be edging slightly towards the tall blue figure.

She lunged forth and clasped down on her friend's shoulders, struggling to pull him back, but he seemed unable to budge. The Sentinel planted his staff a bit closer, looking down at the two Riders before him.

"Shepherd! Snap out of it!" She shouted but he did not respond.

The Sentinel was silent and stoic as ever, reaching forward slowly with one white, gloved hand.

"Shepherd, please don't," she pleaded. The Sentinel could easily subdue both of them, but she had to get her friend away.

The Sentinel's hand was so close to Shepherd's forehead.

Frelsa strained to pull him back, pushing, pulling, even punching Shepherd in the gut, but he did not respond. He just stared into the Sentinel's eyes. Where its eyes should have been anyway.

The Sentinel's hand already seemed to be on Shepherd's head, but there was the sound of ripping cloth shattering the silence. The Sentinel's hand stiffened and turned into a claw like grasp. Its head hung in pain, the staff in its hand falling to the floor and causing the six floating rings within to fall apart. Another rip, then the robes seemed to fall away, where there should have been a body there was none. Behind the pile of white and blue robes stood an Urgal, one with a copper axe in hand.

She flung her arms around Drukjl, near to tears with gladness. He stumbled back slightly, before he returned the gesture.

Shepherd staggered around a bit. It seemed that the Sentinel had not worked its magic on him, but he was definitely dazed. His eyes seemed indistinct and far away, as if focused on something no one else could see, but some awareness seemed to return when he laid eyes on Drukjl. He spread his arms weakly, "No hugs for me, Ram?"

"Sorry, he's a bit confused after what he just went through."

"Tell you what, Shepherd," Drukjl said, "I bash you a bit, then we see if you still want hugs."

"Wh-What are you doing here?" She asked in wonder.

His expression grew grim and she immediately knew something had happened. "Our dragons are somewhere in this keep, chained down. I was on my way to free them then find you two."

Another morbid scream, followed by clanging metal. She cringed, "Any idea what that is?"

"I may or may not have freed all the prisoners."

A head poked out around the corner. "There you magic scum are! Hurry up, there is many"

Drukjl twirled his axe threateningly, but Frelsa mouthed: No. She explained, "He's a friend, seems to know his way around this place."

He nodded. She continued, "We were going to get our weapons and then head for the dragons-"

"I shall go to our dragons," Drukjl said, already turning around and heading down the passage.

Shepherd halted him, "Do you even know where they are?"

"No, but I have ways."

"Magic scu-u-u-m!" Dog called in a singsong voice.

"Good luck, Ram," Shepherd said.

"I don't need it."

Frelsa grabbed Shepherd, heading down towards the boy.

* * *

Dragons hate cages. It's not a matter of individual personality, all dragons are free creatures by nature and hated being locked in cages.

All three of them were kept in their strong-bar-strong-magic-cages, moved into a large room that smelled of dead kills. The rat-nest-humans had not bothered to even clear their cages of the garbage their brethren had thrown.

Brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir slammed against the bars of his cages, struggling to bite through the bars. It was no use, as before. All of their attempts to break the bonds had been futile. Errol knew no metal of human make could stand up to them, and knew strong-magic was at work.

Dýrgrir kept on thrashing in his cell while Kalla lay down dejectedly. She had returned to the brooding, miserable state she had been reduced to since their departure from the island. Errol longed to be free of these chains, to be at her side comforting her, but try as he might he could not even free himself. He could not even speak to her. All of them had been silenced the moment they passed beneath the gates of the rat-nest-Feinster.

She gave a mournful roar before laying down again. Errol strained on his strong-magic-chains connected to each corner of his cage. He pulled so hard on his chains it felt as if they would tear the skin from his claws. But he needed to be out of this evil-magic-cage, he hated not having space to stretch his wings, the freedom that had been taken from him. He needed to be out finding his brother-of-soul-and-mind-Shepherd, he wanted to kill those who had undoubtedly captured him and no-past-Frelsa. But above all, he wanted to find those who had stained Kalla's green scales with their waste and rip them limb from limb.

He slammed against the bars again, but the bonds stood fast. As brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir continued with his struggle, Errol mulled over how to surpass this strong-magic-strong-cage. The sound of Dýrgrir slamming against the metal bars became almost rhythmic punctuated by mournful rumbles or roars from Kalla. He thought of what the evil voice had said, and had convinced himself it was not true. He was not sure it had even spoken to him.

_You're wrong._

The strange-bad-mind-voice never left him for long. He was a fool to ever believe otherwise.

_Look at him, just look how he glances at her._

_Not true, not true, not true…_ he chanted to himself. But he could not help himself and looked at Dýrgrir. He _did_ sneak glances at the green dragon between thrashes. Was the bad-mind-voice right? _Just the love-sick talking, just the love-sick talking._

_ Have you noticed it? She looks right back._

_It can't be true, no, no._ It was like something great-strong was forcing him to look up, to see the truth. Kalla was still in her miserable position, but was her head angled ever so slightly towards Dýrgrir? Did her emerald eyes wander more than once to the brown dragon?

_Do you still think he's your brother?_

_BE QUIET!_ The strange-evil-voice somehow heard him.

_You know I'm right. You know it. _

_ No, no, no, no._

_ Don't pretend you can't see the sense in my words._

The horrifying truth was, he did. He believed every word the strange-evil-voice fed him and hated himself for him.

_You can love her however much you want, she'll never love you back._

Errol could not bring himself to answer.

A scream broke the routine of thrashing against strong-metal. There seemed to be a commotion outside the large wooden door from where their cage had been moved in. More screams and shouts, a body thumping against the doors.

The thick wood and metal doors slammed open. Drukjl stood there, a hallway of unconscious guards behind him.

* * *

"Just look at this stuff."

Frelsa looked up as she secured her sword belt, the familiar weight of Delswoir on her waist. Shepherd had his grey sword and inspected the room in awe. It seemed every suspicious article confiscated in this city's history had been moved here.

Huge crates filled to the brim with strange and delicate instruments dominated the room, hundreds of intricate shields and elegant weapons hung on the walls from the floor to the ceiling. Frelsa recognised many as Elven in design. She reached into a crate, it was so high she had to tiptoe, and pulled out a flask of some strange green luminous liquid. "You think it's safe to keep all this stuff in crates?"

"Not at all." Shepherd inspected a short sword that bore the sharp acute angles that were customary of Dwarven design.

"Faster, magic scum," Dog said. She was still a bit puzzled about his name, but more than a little miffed by the names he had given them.

"Not all of us are called 'scum', Dog."

"You're not?"

"We're- never mind. Come on Shepherd."

He was captivated by a gilded metal sphere with what she recognised as a fuse protruding from the top. "What do you think would happen if I-"

"I said come on." She snatched the orb from his hands and placed it in the nearest crate, dragging the other Rider along.

Shepherd closed the door behind them and he asked, "So, um, Dog. Got an idea where our dragons are?"

"What do dragons look like?"

Frelsa was thoroughly shocked. Dragons were the stuff of legend to all, they were universally recognised by all, and she would have expected even the people of Feinster to know them, at least out of fear.

"Uh… how about, big lizards with wings?" Shepherd suggested.

"Big wings, a row of white spines down their back, and big."

"Like, the size of a big horse."

Dog stared at them in puzzlement.

"You know what? Forget that," Shepherd said. "If you had three big animals brought into this keep, where would you keep them if you didn't want them to get away? Besides a menagerie."

"Menagerie?" The boy asked.

"Away from any other animals."

"I dunno," he replied gleefully.

Shepherd frowned, Frelsa thought how Drukjl would have found his way there. He said that he had ways, what sort of?

"Doesn't matter, we just keep going through this keep until we find the dragons," she stated.

The plan was a stupid one, to say the least. They figured it out when they reached the first patrol. The soldier's voices floated over, softly at first.

"Shit, man, did you see what they did to Silus?"

"God that was some messed up shit, throat all torn out and leaking blood…"

"Don't know about you three, but I didn't throw my lot in with Neoettr to get killed by Magic Scum, we have to get out of here."

Frelsa, in the lead, halted and leaned against the wall. The voices were just around the corner.

"How do we go then? The courtyard's a warzone."

"I… I don't know, man, we just keep looking for a way out."

She looked back at her companions, mouthing: Back.

They shuffled down the hall, careful not to make a noise, but evidently they were not fast enough. A shout came from behind, "What the hell? You! Stop!"

Frelsa spun around to face the soldiers advancing on them, swords drawn. Four of them. She and Shepherd could take them, she hoped. It was one thing to learn swordplay, it was another to put it into effect.

As they got closer, Frelsa noticed things about their uniforms and armour. Almost all of them had a tear in their clothes or a dent in their armour, their helmets were pulled low over their faces but could not conceal the cuts that crisscrossed them.

The man asked, "Who are you lot? What are you doing in the keep?"

"Uh…"

"Trun," muttered one of his companions, pointing at their swords, "They've got swords."

The lead soldier, Trun, widened his eyes, before raising his sword so that the steel point rested on her chin. "Now what would three kids like you want with weapons like those, huh?"

"Die, fat man!" Dog rushed forward and kicked Trun so elegantly between the fork of his legs before scurrying away.

As Trun bent over in pain, his allies raised their weapons and rushed forward.

She hurriedly drew Delswoir and quickly leaned out of the way as the first blade came down, before craning to another direction as the second stab came. She tried to strike the first man before she hastily ducked as the second man's blade swept through her hair, slicing off a few strands. Frelsa realised that combat with two opponents was much more difficult than she had expected, she needed to get rid of one of them.

She parried a blow and slipped under the man's guard, slamming Delswoir's guard into the man's armoured forehead. Frelsa aimed to incapacitate if possible, not kill.

Glancing to one side she saw Shepherd parrying the blows expertly, but barely able to strike back under the hail of blows from a furious Trun and his other companion. He was untouched, but so were his opponents.

Her last opponent's blade sliced across her side, she gasped as the icy blade easily slipped under her distracted guard. Cursing herself for allowing her to be distracted, she twisted away as the sword came down, clanging against the ground. She reached forward, grabbing the man's helmet and quickly yanking it off, exposing his shaved dome of a head. He snarled and sliced lengthwise, Frelsa ducked under the blow and moved to the man's other side, swiftly slamming Delswoir's pommel into the man's head. The emerald embedded into the pommel connected with the man's skull, to which he responded with a cry of pain. She slammed the pommel against his head again, then one last time for good measure. The man crumpled to the floor, limp.

Frelsa smiled somewhat triumphantly at her work. Two soldiers down, neither one dead. She turned to Shepherd to see him standing over his own opponents, already knocked out, examining her. "About time you finished."

"How?" She asked, confused, he had been struggling against his opponents just seconds ago.

"Skill. Now where's that kid, Dog?"

She looked around. It seemed he had bailed after kicking Trun, she couldn't really blame him for it, he seemed barely seven.

Turning towards where the soldiers had come from, she said, "No matter, we just head for the courtyard and wait for Drukjl and our dragons. They said it was a warzone right? Well, anything that hates this place can't be that bad."

"Fine, then, I still don't like being away from Errol for so long."

She turned back to Shepherd, saying, "Don't worry, he's probably safe, as long as he's got Kalla and Dýrgrir to keep him-"

A figure was behind Shepherd, one of the soldier's, sword raised, the tip hovering just over her fellow Rider's neck.

The next few moments were mostly a blur, the soldier yelled in triumph as he thrust his sword forward, Frelsa grabbed her friend's shoulder and yanked him aside, raising Delswoir and bringing it down across the man's chest in one fluid motion.

The man looked at the wound in his chest, starting from the base of his neck and going straight down. Through his rent armour his uniform was slowly turning red. His mouth opened slowly, but no sound came out. He clutched his chest and fell backwards.

Frelsa retreated slowly as the man lay on the ground, convulsing like a fish out of water and making horrible, horrible noises like a dying animal. Shepherd grabbed her arm, pulling slightly, but she did not even look at him. She was fixated on the man she had sliced open, the man dying on the ground.

"Don't look, Frelsa, let's go."

Delswoir was no longer light as a feather, it felt cold and heavy. The man was making disgusting gurgling noises. His blood is probably flooding his throat, informed one part of her brain. Choking on his own blood, blood that you made run.

Shepherd yanked her again and she returned to reality. She looked at him with hollow eyes. "What did I do?"

"You saved my life, don't think of anything else, just go."

"I-I killed him. He has friends, what do you think they'll think when they find a dead brother lying with them."

"Don't think about that, just come."

He pulled her back and turned her around, and they came face to face with three Sentinels.

Shepherd pulled a long face, "Oh come on! Seriously!"

Their staves began to glow with that crimson light, the three of them seeming to loom that much taller, filling up the entirety of the passage. Shepherd placed his hand on her head and tried to force it down, to turn her away from them, but it was too late.

She did not even resist as her eyes zoomed in on the shadows within the closest Sentinel's hood. He held his staff over her head, those seven beautiful wings twirling serenely. What a lovely red glow. Like roses.

She was faintly aware of Shepherd stabbing his blade through a Sentinel, the being crumpling into a pile of robes, before he fell under the spell of the other one.

Her Sentinel reached forward and rested a soft, gloved hand on her forehead.

* * *

Drukjl raised his axe high overhead and swept it down, carving through the last of the thick iron bars. Kalla cast him a grateful glance before agilely hopping down.

He had spent the better part of the last twenty minutes of human time carving through the bars and chains with Zhâda. They had strong magic bonding them, quite hypocritical compared to the rest of this city's hate for it.

Drukjl placed one hand on Dýrgrir's snout, staring deep into his amber eyes. It felt wrong to be so near to him yet not feel the weight of his thoughts. The dragon gave a rumble. Was it of reaffirmation? Of comfort? To his Rider, it didn't matter. He brushed some of the waste that the humans had pelted the dragons with. How they could have hate for such great creatures was unknown to him. He hoped humans in other cities were not as such.

"Come," he said at length, heading for the door. "We must find Shepherd and Kalla."

He had barely stepped under the doorway when there was a crashing sound behind him. The Urgal turned back and saw Errol immobile, having fallen onto his cage. And standing over his grey body was a tall blue and white robed figure with a golden staff. How had it gotten inside? There was only one door and none of the windows were broken.

Dýrgrir roared and leaped forward, the Sentinel looked up at the brown dragon and it seemed to halt in mid air before crashing to the ground, stopping at the being's foot.

Kalla slinked close to the ground, snarling, before she stiffened and fell limp. From behind her walked out another Sentinel.

Drukjl stared in shock. Three dragons had just been immobilised at a touch. The Sentinels had definitely not been there before, they seemed to have just materialised from air.

He roared and charged the closet one, the one standing over Dýrgrir. He vowed to make this thing feel pain for what it had done to his dragon.

Knowing from experience that a few blows of his axe could defeat it, he raised Zhâda high and brought it down, straight for the Sentinel's head, if this creature had one.

He kept his gaze down to not connect eyes with it, just as Lod had instructed. His axe stopped in its deadly arc. Drukjl quickly glanced up and saw a white, gloved hand around it. The Sentinel had caught the axe by the handle. He kept his gaze down and tried to yank out his axe.

A terrible cold pervaded his hand, he struggled to keep his hold on his axe but the cold was strong, it spread from his hand and throughout his body, snuffing out his fire within. Drukjl held on as long he could, before he felt as if his hand would freeze and fall off, before roaring in pain and falling back, gasping.

He lay on his back, the fire within him slowly rekindling, before a hood entered his view, the Sentinel standing over him.

* * *

Waking up and not feeling anything in your legs sucks. A lot.

Frelsa opened her eyes to see a domed ceiling far ahead. She sat up and realised that her arms were chained behind her. Shepherd was kneeling next to her and Drukjl lay on the other side. Both were similarly chained.

She strained to crane her head around and saw that they were in a brightly lit room, very large, large enough for a dragon to circle within. Most of it was built of pale stone and bronze, no sign of trash or wear and tear. They were at the far side of the circular room, behind them was a dark hole in the ground more than fifty metres wide, a soft blue glow coming from within it. There was a hallway leading away on the other side.

Frelsa gave a gasp when she saw their dragons in a cage, suspended directly above their heads by a collection of chains. Judging by how there was no thrashing and crashing of metal they were subdued as well.

She writhed and struggled in her chains, straining until she felt the warm smoothness of blood creeping down her wrists.

"Please don't try."

She looked up in shock, looking around for the source of the voice.

"Right in front of you, human."

She looked in front of her and realised that the three of them were chained at the foot of a flight of wide steps, at the top was a huge throne of bronze and copper. There was a huge, stained glass window behind it. A shadowy figure sat atop the throne, none of his features were visible.

"Three Rider's pervade my kingdom, cause terror in the streets and send my prisoners amok."

The voice was so familiar, then Frelsa realised with a shock that it was almost identical to the one she had heard under the volcano from the grey tempest. She pointed a quavering finger, "You… you're…"

Two pinpoints of fluorescent blue appeared where the shadow's eyes should be. They stared out at her in contempt.

"Have we… met, human? No, it can't be, I would have destroyed an insignificant bug like you long ago if we had."

His tone was calm and relaxed, as if crushing insignificant bugs like her was an everyday chore.

The shadow rose to its feet. At its full height it must have been nine feet tall. She desperately tried to back up but her legs were still as ever. This thing could have been identical to the tempest under the island if not for the blue eyes.

"You have much magic in you, good, very nice."

She tried to pull out Delswoir but her hands could barely move an inch from where they were chained behind her. Closing her eyes, Frelsa prepared for the end.

A hand softly fell upon her arm. It felt deceptively like skin, soft and supple.

"Look up, little girl."

His voice had changed, not like the one under the volcano anymore, softer, more human like. It sounded like a completely different person. This alone was reason enough for her to look up.

A man stood where the shadow had been, a short and plump man. He had royal, purple silk robes that stretched almost painfully at his belly. He had a head of short, black hair and a ruddy complexion. But what was most striking about him were his eyes, striking and electric blue. He smiled jollily at her.

Frelsa's mouth fell open. This surely could not be the shadow upon the throne. But it seemed so, no dark shadows with fluorescent blue eyes were anywhere else in this chamber.

He sauntered over to Drukjl, the sheer volume of fat upon his legs making it seem like he was always about to tip over. He crouched down and grabbed the Urgal's face, turning it from side to side to inspect it. He grumbled, "Urgal hm? Not much magic in you, sad."

As the man wobbled over to the still sleeping Shepherd to inspect him, Frelsa managed to ask, "Wh-Who, what are you?"

He grabbed Shepherd's face, murmuring, "Good, good, very nice. I'm sorry, lesser humanoid, did you say something?"

Somehow when this thing said that as a fat man in purple robes, it somehow did not seem as threatening or awe-inspiring. She repeated.

He turned to her. "That's simple, my name's Áqirni."

The name sent a chill down her spine. "You… just now, when you were, were… that thing, you looked a lot like-"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, I hear something."

She tried to hear but there was nothing.

"You hear that?"

She did not dare to answer, but got an answer soon enough.

"Lord Neoettr!"

A soldier stumbled through the hallway on the other side of the pit in the middle of the throne room. His armour was crisscrossed with blade marks and he bled from a slash on his arm and his plumed helmet was askew. Dragged along behind the soldier was a man in bloodied rags.

"We got one of them, Lord! One of the escapees!"

It must be one of the magic users Drukjl said he had freed.

Áqirni waved dismissively at him. "Just leave him here and be on your way. There's a slaughter down at the courtyard, go and bring a few more magicians up."

The soldier saluted and turned tail, running down the hallway, boots tramping against the hard stone.

The fat man strode forth and straight towards the pit. He stood on the edge for a moment and Frelsa hoped he would walk straight off and into whatever lay below, and he did. She almost smiled as he stepped forth into emptiness, then gasped as a stone panel shot up from below and supported his foot. He took another step and another panel shot up to support him. It continued in such a manner, the panels rising up to form a pathway for him as he walked over the void. The magician who had been brought in was in awe, frozen in shock.

Áqirni stopped above the centre of the pit, bellowing with a stentaurian roar, "Sentinels!"

Two Sentinels on either side of the magician reached down and grabbed his arms, yanking him up. How had she not noticed them before? They pulled the screaming man towards the pit, and as they took the first step stone plates rose up to provide them a walkway just as for the fat man. They led him over the pit until their path joined the one of Áqirni, forming an impossible bridge. The magician struggled wildly in the iron grip of the Sentinels, begging for mercy.

The fat man reached forth and cupped the sobbing magician's face in his pudgy hands, murmuring soothing words. The man's sobs gradually abated, before his eyes popped in fear. He opened his mouth to scream again as Áqirni savagely grabbed either side of his forehead, almost as if he wanted to crush the magician's skull between his palms.

What happened was a thing Frelsa would try desperately to forget in future times. The man screamed so loud she felt as if her ears would fail, his eyes glowed as blue as those of the shadow on the throne, a light of similar colour shone from his mouth that hung too wide. He thrashed and struggled and the Sentinels pulled his arms taut, stretching him apart. His eyes and mouth glowed so bright it seemed as if the Sun had turned blue and chosen the man's skull as its new perch, its radiance shining forth from whatever opening it could find. Áqirni's grip grew more savage, hands turning claw-like. The man's scream ended abruptly, finishing with a sound like a glass rod shattering. The glow dulled, the light seeming to condense to liquid, flowing down his skin and down. The electric blue substance condensed at the magician's feet, then flowed over the sides of the stone bridge and into the pit. The Sentinels held him there until all the blue substance had emptied from him and flowed into the pit.

The fat man let go of his victim and cupped his hand, scooping up some of the blue liquid, then let it flow down into his mouth. The Sentinels heaved up the now lifeless body and brought him away.

When he returned, the man who was once a shadow seemed to stand straighter, less fat and stouter. His smile was now tinged with insanity. The fear that was once gone returned with a vengeance to Frelsa.

The man squatted down and inspected a still sleeping Shepherd, sighing, "Females always wake up first, unfortunately. You can't really enjoy bleeding one dry of magic if they aren't screaming like children. Well, time's a wasting."

He tapped Shepherd on the forehead and his eyes shot open. He stared around wildly and tried scrambling to his feet, which would have worked had he not been chained. How could he use his feet?

Áqirni pointed at her legs and sensation in them returned. It was evident by now that whatever power prevented them from using magic did not extend to him. Drukjl was also woken up, but he did not do so for their dragons. Shepherd asked, "Fat man! How about our dragons then?"

His eyes flared for a moment, before softening slightly. "They'll wake in time, quicker than you two would have. And my name is not 'Fat Man'. Name's Áqirni. During my rule as Lord, I've earned the moniker Neoettr, and for some reason everyone believes that to be my name."

Drukjl narrowed his eyes, "What are you, demon?"

"Demon! Hah! That's a good one, calling me demon would be like calling you a common goat, Urgal!" He continued bellowing with hearty laughter, so infectious that she saw Shepherd smile slightly. She did not. She had seen what he had done.

He wiped a tear from the side of his eye as he sat upon his bronze throne and reclined luxuriously. "What I am, is a great deal. I'm Lord of Feinster, obviously-"

"You know what we mean, Fat Man," Shepherd said. Drukjl hissed, "Bad idea, Shepherd, this one is powerful."

His electric blue eyes seemed to become starker, harsher. "Well, humans, I am one of the last of a dying race. We go by many names, our most common, being the Grey Ones."

The name sent chills and shivers racing around her body, those two words had a very power of their own, silencing all and resonating within them. She had heard the words before, but they were still distant to her, like she had heard a whisper of it within a dream.

"Not familiar with the word? Blast, I'd hoped your people would remember the race that had shaped your world and laid low the four proud races that came here before you."

This man was undoubtedly crazy. Great, a crazy fat man who fed on magic. A dragon roared above them, one she recognised as Kalla. She wanted to cry for joy but she dared not to. She could not even talk to her with her mind. Soon Kalla was joined by the growls and roars of the other two dragons. She figured with a cage that size, they were squeezed in there pretty tight, probably no space for them to even move.

"Now, since we're all awake, I'm sure you six have quite a few questions for me. I could kill you all, of course, but since you're Riders I'll grant you that much of a privelage."

A roar from one of the dragons, by the sound of it Dýrgrir, to which the fat man responded, "Oh do shut up, dragon, in my day you would've been lying on the floor by now, an edge through your scales and a pool of blood around you. You're all alive still by my word."

This shut them all up.

"Now then, I shall continue uninterrupted, indeed? Well, the first question you ask might be: Who am I? I'm both Lord Neoettr and Áqirni. Or maybe, more of Áqirni. The last Lord was originally a bright young lad with the best intentions for his people in mind. Then I came along, and realised that his 'no magic' policy suited my needs quite well."

"Drukjl," she whispered. He glanced back, to which she responded by looking down at Delswoir's hilt. It was impossible for her to reach it but perhaps he could.

"I uh, disposed of that young boy, quite a hard mind to break he was, then took control, closing the gates for a few years for security reasons, sending my Sentinels into the city to weed out any remaining magic and "inform" the peoples of my truth and such. I also put in a few precautions to stop any new magic using citizens from using their abilities to my detriment, as you may or may not have noticed. Such as a field that negates the use of it. The magic ones would be brought here and their collective essence poured into that pool behind you."

He pointed at the pit behind them.

Frelsa was uncomfortable under this fat man's gaze, having seen him sap that poor magician's magic and seen him as the towering dark shadow. He was too comfortable sharing this information with them, so she hoped that he did so out of sheer stupidity, but she knew it was not so.

"As you may have suspected, you will be subjected to that fun treatment soon, so don't fret."

She felt a lot like fretting.

"Now that we've got past that, who would like to go first? It's quite painless really, side effects may or may not include the complete absence of magic from henceforth, severe nausea, projectile diarrhoea and I think that's about it. No wait, there's also a very high chance of death, maybe a hundred percent or so."

He looked at them with a grin. "Any questions?"

Shepherd started to, of all things, laugh. The fat man's grin grew wider. "Hilarious, human, isn't it? You're going to die very, very painfully! This one gets it, I like you!"

"No, it's not like that," Shepherd stammered between choking laughs. "I mean, it's just that, it's slightly hard to take a threat seriously when you look like-" he jerked his head at the fat man, "-that."

The man's cheerful disposition fell apart, his face contorted with rage. "Would you prefer a more menacing visage, such as this?"

He swiped one pudgy hand over his body, and like he was withdrawing a curtain, his fat form changed to that of a nine foot tall shadow with piercing eyes of electric blue. He got up from his throne and sauntered towards them. Shepherd, Frelsa was glad to say, had fallen silent. She felt a slight tug on Delswoir's scabbard and knew that Drukjl was succeeding. It was amazing he had done anything without Áqirni seeing.

"Now who wants to go first?"

She felt Delswoir slid out of its scabbard slightly and hurriedly jerked it out a bit more, just enough for her to reach over and start sawing through her chains. She moved sluggishly to avoid detection.

But Áqirni walked straight past them, onto the edge of the pit. The bridge from before had collapsed. He knelt down next to the pit and reached in, when he withdrew his hand it was dripping with the blue substance she had seen leak out of the magician. The shadow held its hand over its head and it dripped into his mouth. "Delicious, if only you could taste this nectar of the gods."

There was a soft clink as her chains snapped on her green blade. She hurriedly got up, careful to make little noise as possible, and drew Delswoir, sawing through Drukjl's bonds. Áqirni dipped both hands into the pit this time, lapping up the magic liquid he withdrew hungrily.

She had scarce sliced through the Urgal's chains when the shadow said, "I know what you're doing, human. This is my throne room, I see all within it."

Frelsa hurriedly brought down Delswoir in an overhand strike on Shepherd's chains, not caring for stealth anymore. He yelped slightly as the blade sheared through the metal, before scurrying to his feet and drawing his own grey sword.

"I will enjoy your essence, those brave enough to resist are always that much sweeter to devour."

"Not a chance, Fat Man," Shepherd mocked as he readied his blade.

Áqirni obviously did not like this name, he turned towards them, wiping off a few drops of blue liquid from his shadowy chin. He pointed one dark finger at Shepherd. "Prepare to die, human."

Drukjl raised his axe and roared, charging the monster. Shepherd followed suit. Frelsa however, help back, wondering if she could free their dragons from their cage, but it was too high up. And those chain links were a great deal thicker than theirs' had been.

The shadow was surprisingly agile for one who appeared as a fat man, he casually sidestepped all blows, none seemed to come close to him. Frelsa crept off to the side, flanking the shadow and praying fervently for Shepherd and Drukjl to keep him occupied and distracted. They were definitely doing a good job distracting him, if it was by amusing him with their efforts.

Áqirni stepped aside as Drukjl's axe came down. "Looking at you two, it's easy to see why you lost the last war against us."

This thing was definitely mad.

She was nearly behind him, but then Shepherd got smacked away. Drukjl bellowed and tried to strike but the shadow sighed theatrically and waved his hand at him. The Urgal flew back and struck the throne so hard that even she winced.

"Now, human, you do know it's not nice to sneak up on people, yes?"

Frelsa charged forward, abandoning all secrecy. She heard Kalla roar with her. The shadow turned around to face her, but she struck faster, Delswoir sliding easily across the back of its knees.

This thing, for all its similarities to the tempest under the mountain, did not have the dissipating power of it. The blade struck its mark solidly. Áqirni roared in pain and buckled, falling to one knee. He groaned, "Disgusting… sub-sentient apes, I'd forgotten how much an annoyance your ilk was during the war."

"Well prepare for a lesson." Shepherd stabbed his sword at the shadow's face. The electric blue eyes faltered for a while as he gave another bellow of pain.

"Sentinels!"

Frelsa's heart sank. She had been entertaining thoughts of victory for a moment, but the Sentinels would make it all but impossible.

Drukjl swung his axe and it embedded itself firmly in the shadow's shoulder. The shadow seemed to fade away for a moment and Frelsa saw something underneath, something, almost like a man but with skin grey as Errol's scales. The shadow faltered for such a short moment that it returned almost immediately. He roared and swiped Drukjl away.

The first Sentinel appeared behind him. Áqirni rose to his feet and behind him, standing on the edge of the pit, was one of the menacing robed men. Frelsa looked away and saw another one behind her, already reaching out for her. She panicked and closed her eyes, blindly slashing, and when she opened them saw a pile of shredded robes at her feet.

Áqirni's blue eyes turned into gaping circles of shock. "Your blades, they're made of stáljerrn?"

The word sounded like the Ancient Language but not any word that she knew.

"Sentinels!"

Áqirni's shock, and was it fear? heartened her. She realised that brightsteel must have some detrimental effect on the Sentinels. She turned to tell Shepherd of this when she saw a Sentinel standing in front of him. It raised one hand to lay it on the Rider's forehead, before a sword sliced through its waist.

The robes were swept to one side. Shepherd shook himself awake and seemed unable to focus on her, saying, "You…"

"Saved your ass again. Remember, don't look them in the eyes. Brightsteel can kill them."

He nodded slowly, but his eyes wandered all over. Frelsa frowned as he staredly hollowly at her, before slapping him as hard as she could.

"Ah! What the hell was that for?" The hollowness left him and he became instead, very annoyed.

"Nothing, now come on!"

Drukjl was somehow managing to survive in one-on-one combat with the shadow. He dodged and lept around like a mountain goat on a steep path. His strength was all for naught, blocking was obviously not an option with this opponent.

Shepherd stepped in and struck and the shadow stumbled back, revealing yet another Sentinel where he had been. The robed figures were everywhere, but Drukjl easily swept his axe through them, the robes crumpling at his feet.

The shadow raised a hand to strike Drukjl but his wrist was stabbed by Shepherd, he tried to take avenge the injury, reaching down towards Shepherd, but was rewarded by a slash across its waist by Delswoir for its trouble.

Áqirni was losing and he knew it. He tried to slip out, to retreat, but couldn't. Drukjl slowly said, "Being of whatever sort, we want only to leave, to have safe passage with our dragons to Teirm, and we shall trouble you no longer."

The being's eyes narrowed. "Admit defeat to you sub-sentients? He'd kill me for that!"

"Who?" Frelsa asked.

"You know, don't you?" he asked fearfully. "You were the ones there, there when he woke! When he got out! You have to understand, if I show any mercy to you, he will kill me when he finds me."

The shadow looked around in fear, almost like paranoia.

"I can't, I can't!"

And with that the shadow fell willingly into the pit.

Frelsa looked in after him and immediately turned away from the blue light that flared from it. A deep rumble sounded and she felt a void that was gone in her return. She felt magic in her veins again.

_Frelsa!_

_Kalla!_ She exclaimed back as the rush of emotions from her dragon flooded her. Just to hear that one word from her, just to hear her dragon's voice after that damned silence, that was heaven to her.

Another, stronger rumble and cracks began to appear in the floor. Shepherd shouted, "We've got to bail!"

Frelsa looked up and reached into herself and felt her beloved magic kite, pointing at the chains and saying, "Jierda!"

It worked, a lot better than she had hoped. The huge cage came falling down, and nearly flattened all of them.

"Gods, girl, give a warning next time you do that," Shepherd complained.

The cage was barely wide enough for the dragons to fit in. They struggled to bite through the cage bars, adorned with countless tooth marks. Frelsa concentrated and spoke again, "Jierda!"

The bars did not break. They likely had some kind of complicated magic enchantment. She wondered why Áqirni hadn't used magic against her?

A chunk of ceiling came raining down. She decided to contemplate it later. The enchantment was obviously too strong to break at a moment's notice. How were they going to go out?

"Frelsa?" Drukjl asked.

"We can't break the bars here, but we have to get out," she said.

"Then we push it out?"

"How? We can't go through the keep."

"Hey guys," Shepherd called. He was standing behind the throne, looking out a shattered section of the giant stained glass window behind it.

Frelsa went over and looked through. There, far below but directly under the window were the chopping waves of the sea. This side of the keep must be by the sea. She smiled, "Then we've got a plan."

Drukjl and Shepherd hacked apart the remaining panes of the window, Frelsa turned to the dragons.

_The three of you need to lean on one side of the cage. The, no not there, over here, yes, facing the window. _

_ Frelsa, what is this for?_

_Out of my face, Dýrgrir!_

_ Move then, you grey lizard!_

She sighed. _We can't get you guys out of your cage now, so we're going to go out the window._

_ I assume there's something soft at the bottom?_ Errol asked.

_The sea._

_ But what if-_

_ Shut up, Dýrgrir!_ Kalla commanded as a chunk of bronze and stone shattered against their cage. _Get up against the side of that cage and push!_

Frelsa tried to help, but it was mostly the dragons that did the work. Their combined weight on one side of the cage was enough to roll it forward like a wheel, even up the throne steps. It was all she could do to keep up.

Drukjl and Shepherd grabbed on to either side of the cage just as it teetered on the edge of the window. The sounds of the sea lapping against the wall came from far below.

Then they fell through and into the sea air.

She screamed, either from fear or exhilaration, she didn't know, but the wind tore away her voice. Their dragons' jaws hung open in silent roars, Drukjl and Shepherd were visible on either side, clinging onto the cage for dear life.

Frelsa learnt that day that people don't really realise that jumping through a window several hundred metres above the ocean is a bad idea until you're halfway down. Thoughts began to race, what if there were rocks beneath the surface, what if the water was too shallow, what if they hit the wall on the way down. What if.

The water came up surprisingly fast, Frelsa tried to angle her body, remembering someone telling her that hitting the water at great speed spread-eagled would be like hitting flat earth at the same momentum.

The water was like a cold shock, her entire body was enveloped in cold, clear water. The cage snagged on something and she was yanked back up and out of the water. The cage was supported by something, a quick dive revealed a spire jutting out from the sea bed, and half filled with water. The dragons inside were still squirming for space, Shepherd and Drukjl were still hanging on. At least they were alive, more than she had hoped for.

An explosion came from above. She looked up and saw a plume of sapphire fire billowing out of the window hundreds of metre above. A hail of tiny objects flew out with the fire.

Shepherd nodded at a point next to her, "What's that?"

Frelsa turned and saw something floating next to her, a brown object. She grasped it and realised it was made of worn leather, connected by a frayed string to her belt. She found a knot tied around the mouth of the leather pouch and untied it, revealing its golden contents.

As Frelsa gingerly felt the fat, golden coins in the pouch, she looked back at the city of Feinster.

"Thanks, Dog."

* * *

28-12-13

So, chapter 10. Made it to ten chapters, and amazingly, 80'000 words. That's a ton longer than a lot of other stories I start, usually ending after one or two chapters. I am a bit concerned that the last few chapters have not received any reviews at all, so I'm afraid that I'm going the wrong way here. Someone throw me a bone here, I'm freaking out.


	11. The Twins to Work

_Frelsa, do you think something's wrong with Errol?_

Frelsa checked her belt to make sure the pouch of gold coins was still there. The gift was precious to her, and not just because the contents equalled to a small fortune. She paced around on the sand trying to think of a way to open the cage.

_What do you mean, Kalla?_ She asked. Her dragon was currently squirming for space with the other two dragons, only half visible through the web of seaweed that still clung to the bars. She, Shepherd and Drukjl had managed to pull the cage ashore through both magic and strength.

_I mean_, Kalla growled as she slipped and slammed into the side of the cage, _look at him._

She did, and realised Kalla was right. The grey dragon subtly tried to push Dýrgrir away, trying to squeeze himself into one corner.

_He's just had a shock_, she reasoned with her dragon. But his behaviour did unsettle her slightly.

Frelsa lay her hand on the gritty bars, covered in sand, salt and a net of seaweed. She flipped through her vocabulary of the Ancient Language, trying to find the right combination to break it.

"Mor'armr thornessa fang."

_Open this cage._ Nothing. Expected.

She frowned and ran her hand across the bars. "This is strange, the enchantment should be broken since that Neoettr is dead."

"_If_ he is dead," Drukjl pointed out, running a whetstone down his axe blade.

_Very cheerful thought_, Erroll grunted. _Now please open this cage, I want to get out._

Shepherd tapped the metal cage. "No doors, no locks, how did he get it open in the first place?"

"Magic. Obviously," Frelsa said.

"If he had magic why didn't he use it against us instead of letting us whoop him?"

She offered no answer, instead continuing to contemplate a spell.

Shepherd raised his sword and tentatively jabbed at one of the cage bars. The grey blade was sent flying back, the pommel striking its owner in the shoulder. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Drukjl nearly joined him, doubling over from hearty laughter.

"Brejta du Saier."

_Break the Spell_. She reeled back as the spell took its toll on her, hungrily drawing in her energy at a furious, almost desperate rate. Frelsa immediately severed the connection, leaning on a nearby boulder for support.

_Frelsa, try again_, Kalla encouraged. _We will help._

_ But what if-_ Dýrgrir began.

_We will help_, Kalla repeated.

She felt the dragons' energy reserves opened to her, more energy than she had ever had access to, a seemingly infinite store of power. She cautiously spoke the words again. The toll was enacted upon them, but slower. She imagined the spell as a tall, lone oak in a clearing, refusing to bend to the wind.

The wind grew stronger and stronger, yet the oak did not double, only bending slightly. The wind grew to a gust, then to a storm, then to a hurricane. The oak creaked and groaned and faults started running up and down its trunk. She could see the spell falling before her. The oak gave a great roar of splintering wood and bowed.

The cage bars seemed to glow bright neon blue for an instant, before the top of it blew apart, the bars twisting and mangling into contorted shapes allowing a hole for the dragons to crawl through.

Frelsa gasped and stumbled forward, hanging onto one of the surviving bars, knees weak under her. Errol snarled as Dýrgrir climbed out, _Faster._

_ Did you… say something?_ Dýrgrir asked with a slight undertone of threat.

_Nothing_, Errol muttered, seemingly resentfully, as he clawed his way out.

Frelsa glanced at the grey dragon with concern, before her knees buckled again and she leaned on Kalla for support.

There was a distant boom from Feinster. Drukjl pocketed his whetstone and sheathed his axe. "We must leave. The disruption we and the escaped prisoners caused will not last forever."

Frelsa wondered for a moment how the prisoners' escape was going, before Kalla nudged her arm. She sighed and climbed up onto her dragons side.

"So, High Navigator? What be our course?" Drukjl shouted at Shepherd as he mounted Dýrgrir.

Shepherd steadied himself on Errol, saying, "Well, since going back to get Lod to ferry us on his ship isn't an option, I'd say we continue North to Belatona, then from there we keep going along the length of the Spine all the way to Palancar Castle. Or we can cross over now and go for Kuasta."

"Which would you suggest?" Drukjl grunted.

Shepherd replied, "Personally, I'd avoid Kuasta. Because of their isolation from the rest of civilisation by the Spine, they've developed some… strange customs."

"Such as?" Frelsa asked, intrigued.

"Oh little stuff, knocking three times on a doorframe before leaving or entering, kissing the hands of elders they meet, executing anyone who desecrates their chicken population. Little stuff."

Frelsa raised an eyebrow.

"They hold chickens sacred," he explained.

Errol jerked his head._ We know our course, let's go. _

_ Agreed_, Dýrgrir said.

Was it her imagination or did Errol glare at Dýrgrir for a moment?

The journey settled back into a trundling march of the mundane sort. They had a silent agreement not to fly for the moment, seeing as how Kalla had fell back into her pit of despair. She was devoid of her usual attitude towards her Rider, tailing the other two dragons. Her silence was so unnerving Frelsa was uncomfortable atop her.

They had barely re-entered a sparse forest when their march was interrupted.

"Hold up!" Shepherd, he and Errol in the lead, called back. "I see something."

Drukjl grunted, "What is it?"

"It kind of looks like…" Shepherd said, squinting into the sky.

There was a sound like the distant boom of thunder, the flapping of giant canvas, the trees shook and shuddered, making it rain with leaves. Frelsa looked up in awe as a huge shadow passed over the Sun, circling above them.

"Gods above, is that…"

She did not need to finish her sentence. They all could recognise it.

A huge dragon came to land gracefully next to them, a giant of such size he must have been of one of the first broods Saphira and Eragon raised. He was most definitely bigger than Rimgrun. His scales were a deep, rich, luxurious purple, in some areas darkening to black, in others so light they were almost pink. His eyes, fitted with striking violet irises, stared at each of them in turn with a hypnotising power in them. He made a powerful rumble from deep within his chest, the sound making her teeth rattle and her bones shake.

Kalla had been roused from her despair, but she still did not dare speak out in the presence of this dragon. He spoke.

_I had expected to find two-legs this close to the City of Hate, but with those of my kind with them, that was something I had not anticipated. _

This dragon was definitely wild, his mind had an untempered, feral feel to it, but he still spoke in the Ancient Language, an uncommon trait for a Wild One. Frelsa struggled to find her voice, trying to answer this giant. Dýrgrir responded quicker, _Bjartskular, we endeavour to make our way North and back to the Island._

As good a lie as any. The dragon gave another slow rumble. _Do not try, there is no island of ours' to return to._

Frelsa paled. She frantically asked, _What do you mean?_

_ I mean what I have spoken. Two or three nights past, the mountain of my, our, island breathed fire. _

She had guessed as much back under the volcano.

_The liquid fire that flowed down its slopes was deadly to the touch, flowing down into our forest and into the stone dens of yours'. Many were asleep, many perished in the fire. _

Frelsa received an inflow of terrifying images and sights and sounds, feelings and senses. She felt the air turn to fire, each breathe kill her a bit as the smoke forced its way into her lungs. She heard screams, roars of pain, the molten rock pouring down and devouring the trees of the Elf Corner, the tall buildings of the Man's Corner. The Dwarf Corner was swallowed whole, the Urgal's corner was swept away. She felt the hot air under her wings, the ash on her inner eyelids. The minds of the dragons and Riders around her as they flew for their lives.

She shook her head to clear it of the images. Not her wings, the dragon's.

_Many of us took to the air and flew to this land. Many made spells to bring them here. One went awry, scattering hundreds throughout this land._

_What do you mean, Drjlun Dari?_ Drukjl asked. She had never heard the honorific names Urgals gave to dragons, but she knew the meaning of this one. 'Great Dragon'.

_One Shur'tugal made a spell to send those around him to this island, but he had not the experience to do so and failed, in a manner of speaking. Yours' and mine kind alike have been appearing as a result of such spells all over this land. You must go to the great forest, Du Weldenvarden, or to Illirea. That is where our kind and you two-legs have assembled to make sense of our tragedy._

Frelsa fell forward and clutched onto Kalla's spike for support. 'Tragedy' sounded like an understatement to her. Their island was gone. Totally gone. How many did they know were still alive? How many weren't?

Kalla kept her gaze fixed on the great dragon. The purple giant noticed and moved neared to them, each step rattling Frelsa's teeth. She could literally feel the frantic pounding of Kalla's dragon heart through their contact.

The purple dragon craned his neck down so he was at eye level with Kalla, but he was so large that his chin brushed the ground. He growled, _What is your name, green scales?_

Kalla blinked several times, as if she were trying to figure out if the dragon had asked her the question, replying at length, _Kalla._

_Ah, if I'm not wrong you were sired by Yviltrun and Saetra?_

_I'm… not sure, I mean, I'm not entirely certain._

He gave a short laugh, but the sound in such close proximity was like a tremor.

_My name is Rukr, it was a pleasure to indulge my weakness for speech with you._

He turned to Dýrgrir, asking, _You are young, but strong, what is your name?_

_Dýrgrir. _

_A good name, a good name,_ Rukr mused, turning to Errol. _And you, grey scales?_

Errol snarled, _No name you'd care to learn._

Shepherd exclaimed in shock, "Errol!"

His dragon gave a growl, before he faced Rukr again, still glaring. _My name is Errol._

Rukr growled, _If your Shur'tugal did not harbour such respect for me I'd have shown you to honour your fellow skulblaka, especially your elders. Are we… of one mind?_

He turned his giant head so that only one violet eye faced Errol. Kalla urgently said to the grey dragon, _Errol, please, don't._

Errol shot a growl at her, before conceding. _We are of one mind, Rukr… Elda. _

Frelsa felt a surge of relief from Kalla, but Errol still stared insolently at the giant purple dragon. Rukr reclined, obviously still displeased. _Your insolence must be tempered, but I sense you are… troubled. _

He turned and spread his wings, putting his weight on his back legs and preparing to take off. Kalla asked hastily, _You're leaving, Rukr Elda? So soon? Why don't you stay with us a while?_

_I would value the company of three Skulblaka, but I have been tasked with finding as many as I can, such as you, to inform them of the gathering at Illeria and Du Weldenvarden. And all of us would do well to leave the land near the City of Hate._

_But-_ Kalla began.

_This task was given to me by Dröttning, the Queen of Elves, herself. I have no wish to fail it. Keep safe your heart, Kalla. Fair winds to you all, Shur'tugalar, Skulblakur. _

_And to you, Rukr Elda._

He swung his wings once, making the freshly fallen leaves around them swirl as if within a storm. Kalla gave a dreamy, mental sigh as the purple dragon disappeared over the horizon.

The information he had gifted them with was too much to comprehend easily. It brought the same pain that she had felt when they had first lost Eragon and Saphira…

No! She would not dwell on that again. She remembered Shepherd's words and put the thoughts out of her mind. They could do nothing but harm her.

They continued on their journey. Kalla had not returned into her pit of despair, which would have made Frelsa happy if she had not been ranting non-stop about Rukr.

_Gods, did you see how strong he looked?_

_Yes, yes, that's what, the seventh time you asked me that?_

_The way he held himself, the way he walked, the way he flew, the way he breathed. It was just so… so amazing!_

_Mm hm._

_And his scales, they were so amazing. I never knew purple could look so handsome!_

_Yup, handsome, definitely._

_And his eyes, they were so deep and strong and beautiful… wait, forget I said that!_

Frelsa gave a short chuckle.

Kalla craned her neck backwards for the umpteenth time to check if Rukr was still visible, which he always wasn't. _Why did he have to leave so soon?_

_He had a job to do._

_Yeah, yeah, but he was just so amazing, he needed to have stayed a bit longer._

Frelsa smiled and patted Kalla's scaly neck. She was glad to have her returned to her, even if she was swooning madly over a dragon they could not have spent more than five minutes speaking to.

* * *

Kalla was still in no shape to fly, not physically but mentally. She soon returned into silence, whether from Rukr's leave taking or still from their past loss. Shepherd was starting to feel very worried for her.

Errol was in the lead, radiating unsavoury emotions to his Rider. He patted his grey dragon's side, _Something wrong?_

_ Hm? Oh, no, nothing at all_, he grumbled back.

_Errol, you've got to tell me. You've got to tell them. If something's up, we all deserve to know. _

_ I'm fine, like you said, just the… just the lovesick. _

He was troubled, definitely, but Shepherd had had enough experience with his dragon to know that he wouldn't offer any more information at the moment.

"Hold up!" Frelsa called. Errol turned back and Shepherd heard her continue, "I thought I saw something."

Dýrgrir moved to Kalla's side to allow his Rider a better look and Shepherd heard Errol growl ever so slightly. He spurred his dragon slightly forward, "Let's go."

Once he was at his friends' side, he looked into the forest. It was only half lit by the sun rays filtering through the thick leaf canopy, a labyrinth of tall trunks and twisted, gnarled ones. A chipmunk scurried up a trunk, but besides that there seemed to be no disruptions.

_Wait a second…_ There were two abnormal shining spots in the tree boughs, like miniature stars. They seemed violet in colour. Dýrgrir crawled forward to under the bough, the purple eyes following him. The brown dragon raised his neck and touched the bough with the tip of his snout. The eyes closed, appearing slightly further in the forest.

_This is strange_, Errol remarked, lifted from his displeasure for the moment.

_Sure is_, Shepherd concurred. Errol crawled forward towards the eyes' new position, before touching his snout to the bough. The eyes closed so fast they seemed to just disappear, reappearing even further into the forest.

Errol would have advanced further, but Dýrgrir and Drukjl cut them off. The Urgal said, "Hold up, Shepherd, we don't know what sort of djinn or demon this may be."

"We know what it is," Frelsa replied resolutely. Kalla continued into the forest, she and her Rider seemingly expecting their companions to follow.

The eyes led them deeper and deeper into the forest until all the mystery of them had fallen away, indeed they'd become slightly annoying. Soon, Shepherd was praying to the Gods that they'd find their destination soon. The to and fro tipping of Errol's journey turned into his only form of time measurement down where the light couldn't reach through the leaves.

The eyes led them on for even longer, before they shut for the last time. Kalla looked around in surprise. _Where'd he go?_

_ He?_ Dýrgrir asked.

"A werecat, Solembum," Frelsa explained.

Shepherd raised an eyebrow, why would she and Kalla even know a werecat? Kalla started moving outwards, looking for where the eyes might be. Her scaly body brushed against Errol and Shepherd felt a shiver pass along his dragon's length.

They circled out from the eyes' last bough, looking for them, trying to find where they might have gone. But they were well and truly gone.

Drukjl's face remained impassive but it was obvious that he, like the rest of them, was not pleased. He said to Shepherd, "What are we to do now?"

"You tell me, Ram. We're stuck out here in the forest, and do any of us know the way back?"

None of them. "G-r-e-a-t."

_We could always fly_, Dýrgrir suggested.

_Think about Kalla. We don't fly till she can_, Errol snapped.

Shepherd placed one hand on Errol's neck, saying privately, _Woah there, tone it down._

He growled back. His Rider sat back, nursing the sores opened up by riding without a saddle. "Where's Frelsa and Kalla anyway?"

"Hey! I've found something."

Shepherd sat up on Errol's back. His dragon obediently went to the source of the voice and where Frelsa's mind could be felt.

They tumbled out of the forest down a hill.

Shepherd struck his head against something, Kalla probably, and groaned when he came to a stop, rubbing his head. He looked up, wondering where in the world the supposed werecat had led them, and gasped.

They had emerged into a valley, a large and seemingly untouched one. They were ringed on all sides by tall walls covered in thick blankets of trees. At the bottom of the valley was a large lake, at least the size of the throne room in Feinster. The waters sparkled serenely as sunlight reflected off the calm surface. There was definitely no humans or other signs of civilisation in sight, but there was obviously wildlife. Huge schools of fish grown fat in seclusion swarmed under the water surface, a young buck drank by the lakeside and sprang away as soon as it laid eyes on them.

Shepherd rose unsteadily to his feet and saw his companions in equal awe of their new surroundings. He remarked to Frelsa, "Next time you see that werecat give him my regards."

They made camp there. The six of them were tired from the ordeal at Feinster and needed a place to rest. No one said it, but they also needed a place to take in the recent events. Rukr Elda's words were still fresh in Shepherd's mind, and that fat man in the keep bore an uncanny resemblance to that hideous shadow under the volcano. They were far too alike for it to be a coincidence.

Errol immediately made a beeline for the lake, and so did Dýrgrir. They paused at the lake banks and stared down each other for a moment, as if daring the other to enter first. Shepherd glanced uneasily at them, it was obvious that this was unlike any confrontation the two had ever had before. Drukjl broke the stalemate, patting his dragon and leading him into the water.

Shepherd laid a hand on Errol's side and murmured to him, _What's wrong buddy?_

_ Nothing!_

_I'll take your word for it. Come on, let's go in._

He mounted Errol, wincing slightly as the sores on the insides of his thighs opened up again. He'd have to heal that soon. Errol however, remained fixed on the banks, looking forward unto the lake. Shepherd questioned him in worry but Errol stayed still, shaking his head several times. He said something so softly that Shepherd wouldn't have noticed if their connection wasn't so intimate, _No, not today at least._

The humour returned to his dragons mind and he asked, _We going in or what?_

Errol leaped up to an outcrop of rock hanging over the lake and leaped off, beating his wings once to gain some extra height. Shepherd shouted for joy as they floated through the air for a moment, before they plummeted. Errol pressed his wings close and prepared to dive in.

The water was like the water of the sea, but purer, cleaner and much clearer. Huge schools of fish darted away in fear as Errol dived deep into the lake and swam forward with paddling feet. It truly was an alien world underneath the surface, the water was illuminated a strange greenish blue and white rays filtered through from the surface. Long tendrils of strange plants rose from the lake bed and the huge schools darted down and swam like one huge seething mass of serpents between the tendrils.

Errol seemed to sense his Rider's lack of air and spreading his wings underwater, beat them once and sent them shooting up towards the surface. Shepherd shook his head and spat out a mouthful of water as they took to the air once again, before diving down.

The second time they surfaced, Shepherd saw Drukjl and Dýrgrir nearby, facing them. He leaned down and whispered something to his dragon. A second later Errol swooped down from above and forced the Urgal and his dragon shooting underwater. Drukjl surfaced and laughed, Dýrgrir eyed Errol suspiciously for a moment before his mind filled with mirth.

They were soon enlaced in a nigh on deadly competition to force the other underwater as many times as possible. The two of them were struck from behind by Dýrgrir and were sent below the surface with such force that ripples turned to high waves that slammed into the banks. Shepherd laughed as they surfaced but Errol did not immediately take off. He head was turned to the left, pointed at a particular green dragon.

Kalla had lapsed from her despair when they'd met Rukr Elda, but had fallen once again into that miserable pit, or maybe she was captivated completely with her swooning over Rukr and sadness at his leve. She lay silently on the same rock outcrop that Errol had first taken off from, head against the ground and eyes half open. Her despair was so strong that it seemed almost like a tangible object. Frelsa lay against her, eyeing them enviously. It was obvious that she wanted to be with him and Drukjl but Kalla's state held her at vigil.

_I wish I could do something to help her_, Errol sighed. He seemed free of his previous hate and perpetual annoyance with everything.

_Oh but you can_, Shepherd replied mischievously. _Listen close…_

* * *

Kalla sighed and laid her head against the cool rock surface, sighing. Frelsa didn't know whether her despair was from Rukr's leave or a lasting remnant of the loss of Saphira and Eragon. The blue dragon had been almost like a mother to Kalla. In any case, she didn't feel like asking her dragon.

Looking up, she saw Errol and Dýrgrir diving down and swooping at each other, disappearing beneath the surface and reappearing at an instant. She wanted to be with them, but she couldn't leave Kalla. They were dragon and Rider after all.

_Why did they have to leave?_

She looked at her dragon curiously, _Rukr?_

_ Not him, but now that you say it, those Wild dragons don't ever stay long do they?_

_ Kalla, you've only spent time with one, and he had a duty to do_, Frelsa pointed out.

Kalla gave a mental sigh and lay her head against the cool rock again, not even answering. She seemed to be stuck in limbo between love crazed swooning and despairing and mourning.

Frelsa looked at the lake again. Drukjl and Dýrgrir looked back at them, but where Errol and Shepherd had once been were nothing but ripples. She asked her dragon, _Where's Errol and Shepherd?_

Kalla got to her feet with some difficulty and looked around. Frelsa projected her mind and realised where they were, right below them.

Errol burst forth like some form of sea beast, water flowing smoothly off his grey scales. The dragon clung onto the outcrop and raised up his claws, wrapping them firmly but gently against Kalla, pulling her and her Rider off the outcrop and into the water.

Frelsa gasped as she was sent into the deep water, immediately reaching out and wrapping a hand around one of Kalla's spikes as she easily paddled back up to the surface, where they were greeted by two laughing Riders and their dragons.

Mounting her dragon, Frelsa saw that sly look come to Kalla's eyes and she lunged forth, placing her front claws on Errol's head and pushing him under. She made that curious dragon laugh before they were sent shooting under. Frelsa looked up and saw Errol shoot down as Dýrgrir attacked.

The six of them laughed and played in the Sun and in the water. Frelsa realised that she'd never really done something like this, only watched with disdain as Shepherd and Drukjl did so. It wasn't half as horrible as she thought it'd be. Laughing as Kalla forced Dýrgrir under, she was reminded of her past, or rather, her lack of one. But it never bothered her for long.

When their battered bodies could take it no longer, they surfaced. Frelsa and Kalla first, before their companions followed. Dýrgrir gave a brotherly shove to Errol, who's eyes seemed to darken for a moment before he returned the blow. Frelsa kept an eye on him. The darkness didn't really leave him.

The Sun was beginning to set, so they made settled down in a rough circle on the lake banks. Frelsa lay against Kalla's warm belly, grateful for the ramblings of the love struck dragon. They reminded her that she had not fallen into despair.

Once the Sun had set completely, Errol muttered something about hunting and made his way to a patch devoid of trees to take off, accidentally stepping on Dýrgrir's tail. He gave a growl and drew in his tail hurriedly, saying, _Be careful._

_Why don't you be careful?_ Errol shot back.

_Errol?_ Dýrgrir asked as he got to his feet.

The grey dragon snarled at Dýrgrir again, the brown dragon quickly said, _Brother, this has to stop._

_What?_

_Your behaviour of late, I had thought Rukr Elda's presence would have tempered you, and for a moment it seemed so, but it has evidently not._

_ You care about yourself and I'll care about me. _

Drukjl jerked his head at Shepherd, saying, "Control your firebreather!"

Shepherd stepped forth and stretched out a hand and laid it on Errol, who remained still and unmoving. Frelsa felt Kalla twist under her and felt her dragon get up and advance towards the grey dragon. She said, _Errol, what's wrong?_

Frelsa expected the problem to be resolved from there in two seconds, maybe three. Kalla always had a way with Errol.

He turned to her and his glare softened somewhat. _Nothing you'd care about, swooning all over 'Rukr Elda'._

_ Errol, tell us_, she repeated with more authority.

He glared at Dýrgrir again, before turning to leave. _I'm going hunting._

Frelsa raised an eyebrow at Shepherd, who shrugged his shoulders. She remembered Rukr's words, about how Errol was 'troubled', and knew that he was true.

Kalla returned to her Rider, complaining, _What is his problem?_

_Rukr said he was 'troubled',_ she reminded.

_I know, but still, is that any reason to act like that to Dýrgrir?_

Several tense, silent moments passed, no one daring to speak out. Kalla grumbled a bit more before taking off to hunt as well, visibly veering away from where Errol had gone. She returned to them quickly with two deer, one of which she pushed to Dýrgrir.

When Errol returned to them, the silence grew even tenser, and a great deal more awkward. He carried a veritable ton of fish in his jaws, and several in his claws. She wondered how he even stayed airborne with such a load.

The grey dragon lay some near Dýrgrir and timidly pushed a few towards a glaring Kalla. He was different now, shier and more nervous. He seemed guilty for his actions earlier.

_I got some for you as well_, he muttered quietly, head hung.

Kalla eyed him suspiciously, before her hunger won out and she reached out one claw and pulled the fat fishes closer.

Watching her dragon tear apart dead animals in the dark usually made Frelsa retch, but now it only made her aware of her hunger. She realised she must not have had anything to eat since her trip in the prisons the day before. It took her a moment to actually realise she was salivating as she watched her dragon tear through the deer and slide huge fat fish whole down her throat. Kalla caught her Rider's stare out of the corner of her emerald eye and took another larger bite, taking care to chew slowly and make strange, rasping noises of great pleasure.

_Is that supposed to make me even hungrier?_ Frelsa asked.

_You know it is, and you know it's working._

And it was. She licked her lips and imagined the taste of venison between her teeth, soft wet flakes of fish sliding between her lips.

Kalla took another luxurious bite before pushing the half eaten deer carcass towards her. _Here, I've had my fill._

_ Are you sure? It looks like-_

_ I've had my fill. Go make a fire and cook something up._

Frelsa smiled gratefully at her dragon, before calling, "Hey Drukjl, see what you can make with this."

There are those who would say that Urgals are savages who eat meat raw and whole, they're wrong. Frelsa had no idea how to prepare and cook a meal, so the task was left to Drukjl and Shepherd, and Shepherd was currently embroiled in a silent, mental argument with his dragon so the task fell to Drukjl alone.

He frowned a bit at the state of the half eaten carcass, before mumbling something in Urgal and producing a small knife from the folds of his war skirt. Through a bit of difficulty he skinned, gutted and cleaned the deer. Frelsa used magic to easily form a raging fire.

Drukjl asked as he held his knife over the skinned deer, "Human, how would you like your meat done?"

A rumble emanated from her empty stomach. "I want something I can sink my teeth into, something filling."

Drukjl grunted affirmatively and set to slicing up the deer, cutting off the, what was it, back strap? Yes, he expertly sliced off a chunk of back strap maybe 30 centimetres long, then produced a small satchel from within his skirt.

"How many things do you keep in there?" Frelsa asked in amazement as he continued to pull forth an assortment of small satchels.

He smiled, "More than you know."

He opened the largest pouch, pouring out a handful of salt and sprinkling it generously over the meat. Drukjl revealed another small object, a small glass bottle full of some liquid. He poured the liquid onto the meat and expertly spread and rubbed it into the meat.

The Urgal collected a handful of thin branches and handed them to Frelsa, saying, "Make these to not burn."

"Why?"

"We will make a grill, and in the absence of metal we will have to improvise."

Frelsa easily muttered a spell to protect the branches from burning up and handed them back to Drukjl, who laid them out in a rough grate. He continued to spice ands season the meat, and when she could stand the hunger no longer and was about to ask him to hurry up and cook it the Urgal unceremoniously threw the chunk of meat onto the wooden grate. He jerked his knife at Kalla. "Firebreather, the rest of the meat is yours."

Kalla gave a nod and pulled the rest of the meat close, chomping through it.

Drukjl reclined against Dýrgrir's belly. "So, Frelsa, might I ask a question?"

"Fire away," she mumbled as she eyed the meat on the fire. The crackling of the flames was somewhat soothing.

"You've never told me about your past, before the Riders."

"I haven't? Must have told Shepherd."

A brief silence followed. Drukjl asked expectantly, "So?"

"Oh, yeah, my… past. I don't really have one."

"What?" He asked in surprise. "Is this a riddle?"

"No, it's just that, I don't have one," she said as she picked up a branch and carved twirling patterns into the dirt. "Maybe I do, but I can't remember it."

"That is impossible. We all have a past before us. Shepherd was born in Aroughs, I was the third born son of the warchief of the Yultuk tribe. You must have a story from before the Shultghal, the Riders."

"That's the thing. I don't." She got that strange feeling in the bottom of her stomach again, the one she got whenever she talked about this.

"You know the rumour that that airheaded girl, Salin, passed around? That I washed up on the island a year or two ago? She's right."

"You mean…"

"Yup, woke up on sandy shores, with Eragon and Saphira standing over me. They never talked about it to me again. I still get flashes of a place I once knew, feelings, biting cold, or maybe visions at night, tall mountains and snow, snow everywhere."

Drukjl settled into silence, as did Frelsa. Her past always made her uncomfortable. She didn't know what it felt like to have family, to have a brother and sister, to have neighbours to laugh with. For all she knew, she was not even a true human. To put her mind off of it, she asked Drukjl, "So how about you? You said something about being the son of a warchief?"

He nodded, "The third born of Wiulkren, warchief of the Yultuk tribe."

"You don't seem happy about it."

"I never was. Being the son of the warchief, you are expected to be the best. The most skilful hunter. The fastest runner. When they found I was Kull, the expectations grew more taxing, I was to be the greatest among great. The annual Tribal Games were no longer a competition against other Urgals, it was a competition between me and my brothers. And soon, once I surpassed them, it was just a competition against me. The Elves would bring the eggs through the tribes every year and the young would lay their hands on them to see if they were chosen to be Shultghal, but I was never allowed to go. Always had to be training, to be practicing, to be working. When the elves came in my sixteenth year, what seems like so long ago, but was only seven months, there was a great cheering and bellowing of rams. I snuck out to have a look and saw that with the elves was a new visitor. A man like an elf, but unlike an elf still. He had with him the greatest beast I had ever seen, a great orange monster with scales like gems and a roar like thunder."

"A Rider?"

"Yes, humans are rarely welcome in the tribes but Riders, they are different. He spied me in the shadows and beckoned. The other rams who were jousting to lay their hands on the eggs parted for the chief's son, and the Rider brought forth a brown egg with amber veins running across it."

Dýrgrir gave a rumble and laid his head under Drukjl's hand.

"Dýrgrir hatched even before I lay my hand on his egg. My father saw and was at first outraged that I had disobeyed the chief's orders and left my training, but seeing the dragon in my arms he calmed and was in wonder, as was I. Sons of chiefs rarely become Shultghal. I was brought to the island and the rest you know."

Drukjl looked at the meat and cursed, growling, "Gharz, I've left the meat on for too long."

He swiftly retrieved the hunk of meat. Frelsa licked her lips as the smell of the freshly cooked meat met her nose. The Urgal drew his axe, placing the meat firmly on a flat rock, and sliced it into thick slices. He tossed one to her, the meat spinning like a disc. She frantically raised her hands to catch it, then dropped it into her lap immediately as the meat seared her hands. "Ow!"

Drukjl called to Shepherd, who had concluded his silent argument with a tamer and timid Errol, "Shepherd, catch!"

He quickly wrapped his tunic around his hands and easily caught the meat.

Frelsa took a moment to just savour the smell of the spices and herbs mixed expertly together as Drukjl asked Shepherd, "By the way, have you told Frelsa about your story?"

He took a tiny nibble of the meat and said, "Oh yeah, I haven't. You wanna hear it?"

Frelsa took a bite and reeled back at the explosion of flavours in her mouth. Drukjl might've left it on for what was a moment too long to him, but it was perfection to her. "Actually, I would prefer to just enjoy my food."

"I'll take that as yes. As Ram said, I was from Aroughs. Born to the Master of the city, from an early age I-"

"Shepherd," Drukjl said.

"Fine, I was the son of a masked vigilante, who ran across the rooftops and stole from the rich, giving to the poor."

"Tell the truth."

He sighed dramatically, "I was born in Aroughs. Nice place, tall white walls, clean buildings. You just have to know what water is good to drink. Great place, oh yeah, besides the swamp that has magic in it."

"What?"

"Don't need to look so shocked. Just a few werelights and will-o-wisps. So I didn't really have a regular childhood, I was born to shop owners, my parents ran a carpentry shop, and since that commanded most of their attention I had a lot of time to roam the streets."

"They didn't ask you to help with the shop?" Frelsa asked before she sank her teeth into the medallion of meat, sighing in pleasure as the meat's juices filled her mouth.

"Oh they did. Many times. Never succeeded though. So I spent most of my time roaming the streets, spent a bit of time in the gangs, had my fair share of run ins with the guards. Not everything I did made me proud."

Frelsa raised an eyebrow. He actually sounded guilty.

"Back a seven months or six maybe, the elves came with the eggs. They always come every year, but I never paid them much mind. But then I realised that one of those eggs might fetch a very nice price from the right buyer."

"You didn't actually…"

"I did. Swiped the closet egg off its velvet cushion. I thought I was home free, and hid in an alley to examine my take. That's when he hatched. Little grey dragon, biting me all over, I sat there stunned. The elves found me easily. Then after that I got sent to the island."

Frelsa was aware of Kalla's piercing glare on an uncomfortable Errol, and felt slightly bad for him despite his behaviour towards the other dragons. The grey dragon seemed to be squirming in his skin as he tried desperately to avoid making eye contact with Kalla.

She reached forward and took another medallion of venison before saying, "I think that's enough liveliness for one night. What say we turn in?"

Kalla kept her glare fixated on Errol, slowly saying,_ Fine._

* * *

That night was the darkest in a long time. In the throes of the heavy-dark-night, Errol dreamed of himself and Kalla. But it was unlike his other dreams of the time before, brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir wasn't there. And neither were the two-leg-dragon-bond-Riders. Just the two of them, with each other.

His dream was a strange-deep-swirl of heavy greens and dark greys, him and Kalla twined together in a seemingly endless tapestry. Their bodies joined together in a bond so intimate that they seemed to be not two but just one-great-sinuous-creature. He felt her hot scales under his body, and her burning breathe against his own scales. The edges of her wings, the sharpness of her claws. Their bodies were so close, it felt as if any closer and they'd fall into the essences of one another. They were in each other's company for a time untold, for what time exists in dreams?

Errol awoke breathing hard, panting-hot-breathe. He looked around, the two-legs-dragon-bond-Riders were still with them, brother-of-another-nest-Dýrgrir and Kalla lay sleeping peacefully under the stars with their Riders against them.

Rising slowly so as not to disturb brother-of-soul-and-mind from his slumber, Errol rose to his feet. Shepherd turned and mumbled slightly, but did not wake. He walked down to the lake side and fell down to the dirt-hard-dry-mud-ground, trying to find some salvation from his fitful dreams. Looking across the dark-shadow-still-water surface, he cast out his mind-voice forward, careful not to project it to those behind him.

_Why me?_

His head fell against the dirt again, and before long the strange-bad-mind-voice answered, as he knew it always would.

_In time, my little pawn, in time you will know. _

_ Why me?_ He pleaded again.

_In time, my little dragon. We have worked too hard for our efforts to fail. Until then,_ the voice grew sly and humourful, as if its owner was smiling viciously somewhere,_ sweet dreams._

He wanted to sleep, but sleep never came, only the morning.

The red-strong-bright-fire rose over the edge of the valley, its rays colouring the surface of the lake with beams of red light. He soon felt a presence next to him, and joined his mind to it, shocked to find that it was Kalla.

_Beautiful, isn't it?_ She asked in awe as the Sun rose slowly over the edge of the valley, staining their paradise crimson. The green dragon didn't even turn to regard Errol. _It's amazing that no one else has found this place._

He remained silent, not daring to speak out. She seemed to have dropped her grudge against him, but he was never sure how to interpret her actions perfectly. Kalla's scales became bright orange, the gold-orange-morning-light overwriting her own green scales. Errol gingerly shifted from foot to foot, not sure what to say to her. She said, _I have no idea what's wrong with you._

He turned to her,_ What?_

_ You heard me well, I don't have the faintest idea what problems you may be facing, but I would very much like to. _

Errol said after a silence,_ You don't know what burden I carry._

_ You're right, I don't, but I can sense you have a bad secret kept in you. _

_ Secrets are powerful,_ he pointed out. _Especially bad ones._

She turned and looked at him with her rich, green eyes like big-green-bright-stones. _Yes they are, but when they are told to another, the badness is not as before, the badness is shared._

Errol didn't know what to do, cursing himself for appearing weak and indecisive in front of her. She didn't seem to mind, humming softly to some unknown tune, not seeming to care that he was acting like an unlearned hatchling in front of her. At length, Errol offered an awkward reply, _I… I think I can share my secret._

_ Are you sure?_ She asked. He thought over it, should he tell her about the bad-mind-voice? That he'd been listening to that evil-strange-mind-voice for so long without telling any of them? He could never bear the shame. But the truth? He wasn't sure that it would be much more bearable.

Kalla seemed to sense his uncomfortableness, and said, _You don't need to tell it now, just soon. It's okay if you can't._

He felt only relief, but knew that it wasn't long before his bad-evil-secret got out. But still, the bad-strange-words flowed out of his mind against his will. _I'm sure you would just _love_ to know my secrets wouldn't you?_

Errol recoiled at the own sneering remark that had left him just as Kalla's eyes narrowed, _And what's that supposed to mean?_

_ I-I meant, I didn't… It wasn't-_

_ Shut it_, Kalla snapped at him, literally, turning around and heading back to their camp. _I'd thought I could help you. Thank you for proving me wrong._

Errol watched her leave his company, lying down next to Frelsa and the bright-shine-glow of her eyes closing shut, but not before giving him one last dirty look.

He slammed his head against the nearest tall-wood-tree-body making it rain with dying leaves, groaning to himself, _Why me?_

* * *

All good things come to an end sooner or later. With the morn came the decision to leave their hidden paradise. As she washed her hair quickly by the lake, Frelsa noticed how Dýrgrir and Errol had returned to good, mostly, relations, but Errol and Kalla's friendship had deteriorated to the point of nonexistence. Kalla never looked at Errol, or even deigned to notice he was there, leaving the grey dragon sullenly behind. He seemed to be trying to reconcile with her, approaching her several times, once with a peace offering of fish, but she always walked past him without turning.

Kalla flexed her wings impatiently, _Hurry up Frelsa. We've got to get to Palancar, and the World does not wait for one girl. _

She seemed good humoured enough. Frelsa buckled Delswoir on and attached the purse full of fat golden coins, quickly counting out the small fortune of gold. With it they could buy anything they wanted. She checked again to make sure she had everything, before mounting Kalla who was, as opposed to the previous days, itching to get into the sky.

_Faster, little girl, I need to feel the wind against my scales and under my wings again. Never knew two-legs were this slow._

When the six of them were in the air, Frelsa realised that the sensation of riding Kalla in flight was different. Maybe it was because she hadn't done so for a few long, long days, but it felt different nonetheless. The wind felt new and young as it made her long hair whip around her face, her worn clothes flap and ruffle. She squinted forward as the biting wind struck, leaning close against Kalla's body to prevent herself from getting blown off it the absence of a saddle to keep her in place.

Errol gingerly advanced, saying,_ Kalla, about just now…_

_ Shut it. _

Frelsa raised an eyebrow and expressed her curiosity to her dragon, who offered no answer. Supposedly, it was a 'secret'. She spat the words out like they disgusted her.

* * *

He walked between the huge piles of crumbled stone and mangled bronze, simply passing through the solid objects. The centrepiece of the room was intact though, a huge pit several hundred feet deep. Any other time a soft blue glow emanating from its bottom would be visible, but today there was nothing but black mist.

Bending down by the side of the pit, he drew one hand across the surface of the mist and the dark shadows cleared, revealing a pool of viscous blue liquid. A figure seemed to be struggling within its sucking grasp. The being would have grimaced, if his face had been reformed.

He reached down and felt his insubstantial limb coated in the magic, pure, distilled. His arm tingled and burned, and quickly wrapped his hand around the being at the bottom and pulled it out and onto the ground beside him, dusty with dirt from the collapsed chamber.

The being before him was wretched, covered in a glowing blue coat of liquid that slowly pooled around his feet, lying on all fours and making sounds like a wounded animal. He asked, "Tell me, Áqirni, how did you Eight beat me the last time? Looking at you, I'm starting to doubt that you and the warrior I knew were the same beings."

The body covered in and dripping blue liquid raised its head to look at its rescuer and two eyes appeared, bright blue globes glowing brighter than the liquid. Áqirni spoke, "You! I thought, I thought your revival would have incapacitated you."

"And it did." He grimaced slightly before continuing, "I would have arrived sooner if not for a mortal and dragon who tried to fight me. I felled the mountain on them."

The figure groaned again and curled up like a foetus as the coat of biting magic ate away at him. He looked down in disdain, "To think you were the embodiment of Justice in our people, that you were among the strongest of us then."

"I could still defeat you in a fair fight," the figure spat out, a little bit of the old pride still remaining.

Laughing, the figure above him kicked once, sending Áqirni onto his side and crying out in pain. "Look at you! Struck down by six mortals, young ones in fact! What happened to you!"

He groaned and moaned, crawling about on the ground blindly as the magic stung his eyes. He managed to say, "Things… change…"

"Indeed they do, and indeed they can."

Áqirni looked up, to see a hand offered to him, one of spinning energy in perpetual turmoil. He asked the golden eyed figure above him, "B-But I was one of those who defeated you last time, foremost among them. Why should I believe you'd trust me?"

"As you said: Things change. If you don't trust me, trust your allies. The Twins have already cast their lot in with me. They know how to pick the winning side. Even now their magics work against those mortals who defeated you, soon I'll put my own to use and expect you to do the same."

Áqirni's eyes narrowed, and for a moment it seemed that he had still retained some part of his long gone past, some vestige of the guardian he once was, the 'Angel of Justice'. But no, he raised one goop covered hand and grasped the tempest before him.

The magic disappeared, revealing two figures, one a tempest and one a shadow, hand in hand. The Tempest would have smiled as he said, "Come, we have to find the rest of the Nine."

* * *

8-1-14

I'll probably not be able to release chapters as fast as before, due to a horrible thing called 'school', but will do my best. This chapter, and probably the next as well, will be used to deepen the characters of my characters, and the plights that are befalling them, make them more like real characters, with flaws and all, then perfect beings in a perfect world.


	12. An Army A-Changing

Belatona!

As she rode Kalla through the huge gates, a guard on the battlements cried a hearty bellow, "Riders!"

The citizens were greatly unlike the citizens of Feinster, whom Kalla had related to her Rider the story of their procession through the road. The men and women were dressed in strangely patterned clothes and brightly coloured. Men and women cheered and cried in awe as they proceeded down the street, while children stared at them in amazement. Many had obviously never seen one of their kind in their lifetime, gaping like a dead fish at them as if at some curiosity. Frelsa smiled as the cried of adulation and praise, enjoying the feeling of soaking it up.

The crowd grew thicker and thicker, until at last they formed an impassable barrier that even their dragons could not forge through. Frelsa looked at her dragon, _We could just fly over._

Dýrgrir, however, advanced and growled loudly, the crowed parting like a school of frightened fish, their shouts of joy dying for a moment, before returning. A soldier pushed his way to the front of the crowd, shouting, "Make way! Let the Riders through to the Keep!"

_The Keep?_ She glanced at Shepherd.

_Play along,_ he replied.

They concluded the arduous journey through the seething crowds and blockades of cheering bodies, they arrived in the courtyard of the keep, a spacious clearing of stone and grass, ringed with tall walls of stone and trees.

A young woman in fine jewellery came to greet them, bowing so low that her features were hidden. She muttered something so soft Frelsa wasn't sure at first she had even spoken, but the woman repeated, "My most sincere apologies for the absence of my father, he is away at the moment."

So this was the Lord's daughter. She looked up for a moment then her gaze fell immediately, and Frelsa saw that she was barely a woman, the girl couldn't have been older than herself.

Glancing to one side she saw Drukjl sitting impassively as ever, while Shepherd was trying, in vain, to neaten his trail stained tunic, burnt in several corners, and straighten his hair. He gave the girl a smile he must have thought 'dashing', "So, m'lady, what hospitality might we be offered in 'tis great city?"

She kept her gaze fixed earthwards, stuttering, "Y-You may sleep and rest in one of the rooms in the Keep, perhaps the guest rooms-"

"Nonsense!"

A tall, spindly man with a sharp goatee and moustache stepped forward from behind a line of royal guards with an insincere smile plastered on, "You'll have the finest rooms this city can offer, come, please!"

"And our dragons?" Drukjl asked. The effect on the man was immediate, his smile falling away and staggering on his next step, before he straightened and his grin returned, "Of course, we will have them all taken care of, we had a large section of the Keep's roof reconstructed to accommodate Riders. Come, come!"

The man unnerved Frelsa, the way he walked and talked, as if he had a thousand things on his mind at once and a thousand more queued behind. He eyes remained fixed on a point, but his eyelid would twitch slightly and the tip of his thin lips would keep on jerking up.

Shepherd easily slid off Errol's back, bowing slightly to the man, "An honour…"

"My name is Oper, Steward of Belatona, and I do beg your pardon, it is I who should be bowing."

Shepherd nodded slightly, bowing to the Lord's daughter and actually kissing her hand, "And your name, m'lady?"

Frelsa pitied the girl, who answered sheepishly, "Sildine."

Shepherd gave another smile, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, would m'lady deign to treat this Rider to a tour of the grounds?"

Frelsa sighed and slid off Kalla, saying to Oper, "I would like to wander the streets for a while, I have heard stories of the famed craftsmen of Belatona and would very much like to see them for myself."

Oper, who had been gazing distractedly into some indistinct point, turned to her as if realising where he was again, "You do? Oh yes, an excellent idea! Come, I shall assign a few guards to follow you."

_That will not be necessary,_ Kalla said, Oper paling as his mind brushed against hers, but the smile not leaving his face while the dragon continued, _my Rider will have my company at her side._

"Actually, I'd like to go alone."

Kalla looked at her inquisitively, and she was aware of Oper's confused gaze on her. She said, "I'd like some time for myself, to relax after our journey."

The Steward's unnatural smile returned, "An excellent, excellent notion, but would you at least care to have a change of clothes and a chance to wash up?"

She looked down and became suddenly self conscious in her tattered, burnt, torn tunic, with a little shred of dried seaweed hanging off one tear. "That would be nice."

So it was, she had a chance to at last feel clean and refreshed again. Shepherd had somehow managed to persuade Sildine to bring him on a personal tour of the grounds. She gagged at the thought. Drukjl had opted to remain at the Keep, and she knew why. An Urgal in the city, even a Rider, would never really be welcome. Kalla kept on fretting worriedly, _Are you sure you'll be safe? _

_ I'm no more a hatchling then you_, Frelsa pointed out, patting Delswoir's pommel at her side. But Kalla was still not convinced.

_The trouble you two-legs find is more than should be physically possible, and I worry for my favourite Rider._

_ But I'm your Rider aren't I?_

_ Exactly._

Dýrgrir and Errol had already flown up to the roof, but Kalla tarried a while longer still. Frelsa looked up concerned at the grey dragon's figure as he disappeared onto the roof. She turned back to her dragon, _And try and give Errol a break, please? He's taking your cold treatment really hard it seems. _

_ That's the point of a grudge_, Kalla reminded. _We'll… solve it, on our own time, you needn't worry. Just go and do whatever you two-legs find 'relaxing'. _

_ Just-_

_ Go before I eat you._

Walking through the gates of the Keep and back into the city, large crowds that had gathered outside the Keep walls cheered for her, but she managed to squirm into their number and disappear. The cheering continued for a while further, until she went deeper into the city's winding streets where the populace had returned to the daily grind.

In this city, it seemed, everywhere was fair game for the placement of a bazaar stall, and everywhere else was crammed full of the tired who wanted a seat.

Every street was lined on either side by stalls, and there was only a space of two arm lengths to walk through, cramming through spaces inbetween shoulders and under raised arms. Stall owners roared out whatever great wonders they were selling, at one area a crowd had gathered and each person was yelling out a bid higher than the last.

And they truly were selling wonders. The stories the others on the island had told her of fell far short. The stalls were piled high with strange contraptions and puzzles, tall structures and carvings. A dark-skinned Surdan man grinned at her and held out a statue of a dragon in flight that seemed rather mundane, until he pulled a spine on the tail and the wings slowly began to flap and the legs began to dance like clockwork. Another man held out his arms, no patch of skin visible under the blanket of necklaces and jewellery that covered them as he yelled out the prices of various pieces. Another had a stall filled with fine gold carvings of entire fish skeletons and snake bones caught in dynamic poses suspended in strange oils and concoctions.

Frelsa pressed her fat purse close to her skin, aware that there could be any number of pickpockets here, just waiting for a turned eye to reach out and fish for their marks. She subconsciously counted out the fat golden coins, thanking the little boy Dog for the umpteenth time for the fortune at her side. She knew she wouldn't need gold if she showed the silver on her palm, but that seemed disturbingly like stealing to her.

She reached forward and held a polished metal statue of a Rider on his dragon up to the light to examine it, tracing one finger over the scales of the dragon and over each ridge painstakingly carved in. The Rider had been whittled from metal down to amazing detail, each scar on his face visible. The stall owner, a fat bald man with a full beard, asked impatiently, "So, girl? Are you buying it?"

"Not yet, just looking first." There were a thousand other dragon ornaments and statues in just this tiny stretch of street, so why had this one caught her eyes. She noticed something on the edge of one scale, a tiny fleck of paint, red as blood.

She felt something deep in her bones, a warm shiver up her spine. There was something about this statue, something she couldn't place. Frowning, she put the statue back, asking, "Who is the Rider and dragon depicted in this statue?"

The man attached a looking glass and squinted forward, nodding as if happy about her taste, "That, my girl, was a legend, and some say still is. That be Murtagh and the Red Thorn."

She ran her hand over the sculpture again, feeling the cool of the metal under her fingers, remembering the stories of the two. They had appeared during the civil war, a tall Rider upon a red dragon, striking fear into the hearts of men before burning them to ashes. They were said to have actually won against Eragon and Saphira. After the war, some said they went to the icelands in the North, or the poison jungles in the South.

The man continued, "This thing was once painted so well it looked like a real dragon and Rider, but it's changed hands so many times the paint's all but rubbed away. Shame, really, ain't worth as much as before."

Frelsa took one last look, before leaving. She knew that the two figures had some kind of connection to her, but she just couldn't place it. Like a vision, or a dream, or a memory…

She found a rare spot on the side of the road to sit on, and huddled against a wall as she drew her knees close and closed her eyes, trying to remember. It never worked well, but today it worked better. She actually remembered something, even if it was the part she saw in her dreams. The sounds of the markets, shouts and bids, was shut out for a moment. She saw them, mountains, tall dark giants rising through the plains of snow, defying the shrieking wind and roaring blizzards. Then the ice, the cold, then a roar, and the heat.

Then no more.

The shouts and shrieks of the market returned. She never usually felt so, but today she felt frustration in her as she struggled to remember more. The Rider and the Red Thorn were tied to her past, she knew it, but how? She banged her head against her knees a few more times, hoping that would help her memory. It didn't, obviously.

When she looked up, Frelsa was greeted with the seething mass that were the legs of the crowd, but saw something else, an old man, which would not really be very abnormal in this city but what was strange was that he was sitting on a rocking chair in the middle of the street, looking back at her.

The citizens didn't seem to see him, just walking around him like he was nothing more than a large fallen column blocking the way. He pulled on his long white beard, before a man passed him and he seemed to just disappear.

Frelsa got to her feet and forged into the crowd, finding the spot where the old man had been. She looked around, ignoring the stares and impatient jostles of the moving crowd she was obstructing. No old men in rocking chairs.

Turning back to the Keep, she mumbled, "I need some rest."

* * *

Shepherd bent down and lightly placed his lips upon Sildine's slender hand, looking up, "A beautiful tour, m'lady, I hope that we may indulge in each other's company very soon."

She smiled sheepishly but didn't answer, hesitating a moment before walking down the passageway, continually glancing back at him. He smiled.

Making his way back up to the roof was a fairly easy task, unlike Feinster Keep and the rest of Belatona, this place seemed to have been designed by a mathematician. Everything conformed to a strict grid like blueprint, nothing ever spilled out of its boundaries or encroached into another's.

When he reached the roof, a large square courtyard, half of it was exposed to the Sun and the other half had a stone roof over it. Shepherd realised that Durkjl must've been somewhere in the Keep. Kalla lay in the Sun, Errol in the sheltered area, and Dýrgrir in between. Kalla was obviously still at edge with Errol.

They had been brought food, but Errol hadn't touched his, pushing the juicy fish towards Kalla, who once again, placed her claws on it and pushed it back. The grey dragon would hang his head in failure for a while, before pushing the fish back to Kalla again, who would push it back. Dýrgrir's head lolled to one side, eyes lazily following the fat fish as it was pushed to and fro.

Shepherd sat down next to Errol, who asked miserably, _So? How'd it go?_

_ Fine, thank you, but I'd like to know how this is going,_ Shepherd asked as Errol received the fish again from a silent Kalla. _She's not still angry for you snapping at Dýrgrir is she?_

_ No, something else._

_ Care telling me?_

He slowly pushed the fish back towards Kalla who was looking away, or pretending to. _I might've said something she didn't like back at the lake, before dawn. _

Kalla pushed the fish back, not even deigning to regard Errol. Shepherd raised an eyebrow, _Gods, Errol, what did you say to make her like this?_

_ I'd, rather not repeat it._

_ You could just show me your memories._

Errol tossed the fish from side to side, the cold dead body's mouth lolling from side to side. _I'd rather not either. _

_ It'll help to talk about it._

The dragon didn't answer, instead pushing the fish back to Kalla. Shepherd looked at his dragon with concern. _If you're not going to tell me what you said, can you at least tell me if you told her that you… _fancy_ her?_

Errol stared at him as he took back the fish,_ Of course not! If I had, she'd either be happy with me or I wouldn't even be here._

The fish had been pushed around so much that one side had been totally rubbed smooth and stripped of scales. The grey dragon kept the fish for a while, laying his head on the ground and staring the fish in its dead eyes. _I messed up big time._

_ I'm thinking that you did, _Shepherd said frankly.

_What am I supposed to do? _Errol asked frantically. _I try to apologise to her, she rubs me off, I try to give her something and she rubs me off._

Kalla shifted so she was facing the city, her tail to Errol, who continued miserably, _Even when I don't do anything, she rubs me off._

Shepherd was pretty sure Kalla didn't turn towards the city to give Errol the cold shoulder, but he was still taking it badly. _If you want my advice, tell the truth. _

Errol gave him a stare that was answer enough. Shepherd continued, _Just tell her how you feel, why you did what you did, and she'll understand. She holds a mean grudge, but she'll drop it if you give her a reason to. _

_ It's not that simple!_ The grey dragon snapped at his Rider, tossing the fish from paw to paw.

Dýrgrir eyed the fish hungrily, asking, _Since you seem to have given up on giving that to Kalla, might I have it?_

Errol glared seemingly angrily at Dýrgrir, who was oblivious, focusing on the fish alone. The grey dragon batted the fish to the brown dragon, who picked it up with his jaws and slid it down his throat.

A cold wind blew through their roof courtyard, and Shepherd shivered, wrapping his hands around his arms. This new tunic wasn't very good at keeping the drafts out. _Errol, just tell me what your problem is, I know it isn't as simple as it seems. _

He eyed his Rider for a moment, before saying,_ Frelsa's just entered the Keep, you should talk to her. _

He reached out with his mind and indeed felt Frelsa climbing the steps. Getting up, Shepherd kept his eyes on his dragon, _This conversation ain't finished, and talk to Kalla and make nice. Like, now. _

* * *

Frelsa climbed up through the Keep, reaching into the higher levels which contained the guest rooms. They had been given the most luxurious rooms, but that wasn't where she was headed to, making a beeline straight for the stairs to the roof.

Halting in her steps, she turned her head to one side, there, such a familiar sound, like a huge wheel rolling across the floor. She knew that sound. Cautiously, she poked her head around a corner, asking, "Red?"

She peeked around the corner just as the tip of a red, armoured tail disappeared. What was he doing here? Frelsa advanced, peeking out the next corner to see one tip of red armour rolling to cover.

Red, for it was most assuredly him, led Frelsa on a longwinded chase around the whole floor, circling it several times over and cutting through and across, sometimes appearing behind her and other times shooting like an arrow, rolling through the space between her legs. Frelsa almost felt like laughing as she saw Red roll away, there was something about chasing a little armoured ball that didn't bore you. Maybe it was because it reminded her of her time raising Kalla.

She smiled, peeking around the next corner, only to see that Red was not in sight, but a door was open.

The door was pretty ordinary, she had probably passed this corridor a thousand times during Red's chase, but she'd never noticed that the door was open. From her knowledge, there shouldn't be anybody using the rooms at this level, not even the servants.

A light poured out from inside the room, and something almost like a light mist. She took a cautious step forward and felt the cold mist on her legs. The door had a ghostly feel to it, to say nothing of what may be inside the room, but Frelsa had an idea what it was going to be.

She raised a hand to shield her eyes as they adjusted to the strong light, and when she took it away she was not disappointed.

A woman with curly brown tresses flowing down her back sat in a wooden chair, her back facing Frelsa. "About time you found me."

The room was brightly lit by some kind of lantern hanging from the ceiling, but what dominated the room was the huge green thing where the bed had once been, a hole had been carved into its centre and huge vines and stalks poured out, leaves and sprigs of countless different plants, weeds and flowers. The yellow bellied, blue scaled gecko climbed between the vines while the huge spider stalked through the sprouts beneath. Red was there, bouncing around on the bed and picking out flowers and nuts and crushing them in his maw. His eyes were fiery as always, seeming to leave a glowing trail behind them.

Frelsa advanced into the room, noticing a big black shaggy cat relaxing on the table next to Angela. She tipped her head towards him, speaking with her mind, _Thank you for leading us out of the dark, and also for leading us to the lake. _

His eyes, yellow this time, seemed to pierce through her, sifting through her secrets,_ Thanks are not needed for one doing his job, but they are certainly appreciated. _

_ Job?_ Frelsa asked, confused. Solembum certainly had no responsibility to aid them.

_A means to an end,_ he said mysteriously.

Angela waved her closer, not looking up where she was bent over a collection of strange herbs and a mortar and pestle. Frelsa glanced at Red and said, "Red's grown since I last saw him."

The Salamander had indeed, stone like plates had begun to appear on each of his red skinned legs, they were still thin compared to the rest of his armour but looked formidably strong nonetheless. And she was almost sure that he'd grown taller and stouter.

"Yes, yes," Angela agreed distractedly, "I didn't anticipate this rate of growth, but I suspect it was the potatoes, yes, definitely the potatoes."

Angela picked out a few herbs and crushed them in her palms, releasing a favourable smell. Frelsa asked curiously, "What are those for?"

Angela turned to face her, holding up the crushed leaves, "These? They're just to make the place smell better. They never clean these rooms, had a horrid stink when I came."

"The Steward doesn't know you're here, does he?"

"Why ever would he?"

"You know, he's in charge of this Keep after all, and you know…" Angela didn't seem to comprehend what she was saying. "Anyways, what are you doing here in Belatona?"

She returned to her mortar and pestle, throwing in a few strange roots and sprigs, "I'd gotten word of something befalling a former colleague of mine, he lives at Feinster, I'm just passing through here on my way there."

Frelsa wondered whether 'passing through' meant staying long enough to growia towering mound of plants.

Angela took out the fine powder from her mortar and produced a potato from her dress, sprinkling the powder over and rubbing it into the potato, before throwing it at Red. The Salamander hopped up on his little legs and snapped the treat out of the air.

"Hey Frelsa, so I heard you-"

Shepherd rounded the doorway and entered the room, pausing to take in what he saw. After a long moment, he pointed at Angela, "You."

Frelsa looked at him, then her, "You know Angela?"

"Of course!" the herbalist exclaimed, "I remember you and your nice Urgal friend, you're Shepherd yes?"

He knitted his brows, "I never told you my name, did I?"

"Didn't you? Then I did you a favour, no need to say it now."

Shepherd was obviously uncomfortable, "Drukjl and I met her when we were looking for you, she told us that at the top of the volcano there was an entrance."

Frelsa frowned, that couldn't be a coincidence. Angela plucked a flower from the huge pillar of intertwined leaves and vines, throwing it whole into the mortar and grinding it up. The Herbalist seemed to mutter something to herself.

Shepherd inched over to Red, looking at him curiously. "And this is what, some kind of mutant dragon?"

He scratched Red under the chin, to which the Salamander responded by biting the fingers.

Shepherd screamed and placed his other hand against Red's snout, trying to push him away, cursing. Angela said, "He's a Salamander, and I'm sure he's made clear he doesn't like chin scratches."

Red pulled back, he and Shepherd caught in a humorous game of tug-o-war. At length, the Salamander lost interest and let go, curling into a ball and bouncing on the bed. The wounds on the Rider's hands weren't deep, considering that Red's teeth were still dull with youth, but he was still in a great deal of pain.

Frelsa, once her sides had stopped aching and she managed to stifle her laughter, asked, "So, just now, you said that it was 'About time you found me'. What did you mean by th-"

_From the North._

Frelsa shivered as the werecat spoke to her. Shepherd obviously couldn't hear, but Angela seemed to start for a moment before her features rearranged themselves. Her eyes focused on the black cat on the table. He stared at her with striking yellow eyes. _The answer comes from the North. Find the Old Rider on a Red Dragon. They have the answer._

_ What?_ She asked curiously.

The cat said not a word, instead easily hopping off the table and strolling out the room. Frelsa reached out a hand to stop him, but Angela halted her, "Don't, Frelsa, he won't give any more information on the subject. I reckon he doesn't even know himself."

She stopped in her tracks, reluctantly, and could only watch as the werecat leisurely exited the scene. Angela sighed, "Now, I know you scurriers have some place to be all the time."

Frelsa was startled at how sudden the invitation to leave was. "But we-"

"I understand, don't worry, you have to be on your way to Palancar don't you? And you all should hurry up and sprt out what's going on between your dragons."

Shepherd took a step forward, "Wait a moment, what-"

Angela left her mortar and pestle and started herding them to the door. "No words, just hurry up and scurry off."

Frelsa tried to resist but the Herbalist was surprisingly strong, forcing both the Riders out of her room. The door slid shut even though Angela obviously didn't touch it, the light shut off completely, but not before the Herbalist said, "And find the House on the hill.

The moment the wood banged shut in her face she pushed it open again, but the room before her was bare. No pillar of plants, no gecko or spider, no Salamander and definitely no Herbalist. She walked around the dim room, coughing from the dust. What kind of magic was this?

* * *

Back up on the roof courtyard, Errol and Dýrgrir were at each other's throats, literally.

They rolled around on the courtyard, snapping at each other. And from their mental presences boiling with hate, they weren't playing around this time.

Errol slashed Dýrgrir on the snout, his claws sliding between the scales and drawing blood. The brown dragon roared and pounced back, propelling both of them so far Errol's back leg slipped off the edge of the roof. The grey dragon attacked again, before Dýrgrir slammed down and pinned Errol's skull against the ground, roaring at him. Kalla tried to intervene several times but was obviously struggling to keep both of them at bay.

_Errol!_ Shepherd cried, _What is this?_

Errol regarded Shepherd for a moment, and Dýrgrir sensed the two Riders' presence, leaning back slightly and giving his quarry some freedom. The grey dragon promptly proceeded to lunge and bite Dýrgrir upon his flank.

_Errol!_ Shepherd rushed forward and tried to separate them, but obviously couldn't. What's one human to two raging dragons?

Dýrgrir slashed Errol on the neck and the dragon relinquished his bite, before slamming into Dýrgrir again. They roared in unison and continued to roll around the courtyard. Shepherd cried out as one of their ivory spikes slashed him across the arm.

The two dragons waged their battle for much longer, until Frelsa stared pointedly at Kalla. The green dragon rolled her eyes and agilely leaped into the fray and finally untangling her two companions.

Shepherd lay against the ground and nursed his wound, muttering a healing spell, before asking aloud, "So, anything you two would like to explain?"

Dýrgrir bared his teeth, _Ask your own dragon, he's the one who began it._

_ Sure, push the blame on me, right, coward?_ Errol snarled accusingly.

_Say that once more, grey little rat._

_ Coward._

_Enough!_ Kalla roared, stepping in between the two dragons. She spoke aloud to all of them, _Errol says something very, very snide, Dýrgrir get's angry and says something back, one thing leads to another and Errol decided a tussle would be in order. To 'settle our differences' yes?_

_ Fine, take his side!_ Errol snarled accusingly.

_I took no one's side!_

The grey dragon fell into silence, glaring at both Kalla and Dýrgrir. Shepherd looked uncertainly at Frelsa, before saying, "You all settle your differences nice-like. No fighting, no biting."

Several seconds passed in tense silence. Dýrgrir glared at Errol, and at length said,_ You… are forgiven._

Errol seemed to want to pass another snide comment, before Shepherd gave one of 'those' looks. _As… are… you…_

The brown dragon silently nodded, before turning towards the edge of the city. Frelsa began, "I can heal your-"

_I can wait for my Rider, but appreciate your concern. _Dýrgrir sat on the edge of the courtyard facing the city.

As Frelsa went off to tend to Kalla's wounds, Shepherd went to Errol. The grey dragon snarled, _That blasted brown lizard, one day he'll receive his due. _

_ And what may his due be?_ Shepherd asked as he patted his dragon on the side._ Or better yet, what is his due for?_

Errol brushed his Rider off, _Don't. I'll last infinitely longer than Dýrgrir ever will. Don't heal me till Drukjl does to him._

_Errol, do you know how stupid that sounds?_

_ Please, _his voice had lost the venom and was more pleading,_ just this time._

Shepherd realised how his dragon's eyes kept on drifting to Kalla, _Fine then, is it to let her see?_

Errol growled warningly, to which his Rider smiled, _Never gets old. _

The dragon seemed to slouch a bit and let his head thump against the ground. _How will I ever get her to even talk to me again? I'm sorry, but she doesn't let me apologise. _

_ Females, go figure. _

_ But you court, no sorry, _attempt_ to court human females on many occasions. That human female, Sildine?_

_ That's different. And anyway, we're talking about you, not me. _

Errol seemed to sigh and looked sadly at Kalla's back. _She'll hate me more than ever now. After what happened just now, I'm sure I've fallen another notch to her. _

_ That's your own fault, mate_, Shepherd pointed out.

_I know! I just need to know how I can fix all of this._ Errol was truly asking for the impossible now. A one shot fix to all his problems? Nope.

Shepherd inspected one of the deeper gashes on Errol's neck before saying, _You've got to do something for her, I reckon, to show her you feel truly sorry._

_ I am!_

_ And to show her you won't do anything of the like again._

Errol proceeded to start slamming his grey head against the nearest wall. _But that's the thing. I don't want to do it, it just happens, like I'm a spectator in this body. _

_ Don't worry, we all do a lot of stupid things in our time. But we'll turn out the better for it. Just look at me!_

_ Forgive me if I'm not over-thrilled. _

Shepherd laughed at his own expense, and actually felt some happiness from Errol. The grey dragon looked dolefully back at Kalla,_ It's not just that, Shepherd, it's almost like… almost as if…_

_ Yes?_

_ Like there's-_

"Shepherd!"

He turned around to the voice calling him, Drukjl stood in the doorway to the keep, axe in hand, "The north wall is under siege, our aid is needed!"

Frelsa frowned even as she got up, "North wall? Isn't that the side facing Leona Lake?"

"It is."

Shepherd drew Shorren and leaped onto Errol's back and disregarding his dragon's pleas, healing Errol's wounds. "Come on then! Let's go!"

Under attack was something of an understatement. Half the wall had collapsed, the rubble falling into the lake and allowing a clear path into the city for the invaders. Fiery bolts seemingly materialised from the clouds and rained upon the rooftops, setting houses alight and scattering ranks of soldiers struggling to rally.

As they got closer, Shepherd could just make out the invaders themselves. They seemed to be all hooded in blue and white robes, carrying golden staffs of seven rings. Four blue lines of cloth stretched out behind every one of them. He knew them all too well. Sentinels. But here were more than he had ever dared possible to be, innumerable ranks pressing into the city, a sea of white hoods with metal laurels upon each of them. The legions of Belatona's soldiers were like rocks of the coast, assailed perpetually by the roaring waves, each surge taking a little rock away with it.

Kalla roared and plummeted like a stone for seemingly no reason. Dýrgrir roared at the legions below them, but a fiery bolt slammed into him sending both Urgal and dragon free falling with a terrible roar. Shepherd would have done something, but Errol roared something about Kalla and dived down like a falcon.

Something struck him in the shoulder and he was forced off his seat on Errol's back. He waved his limbs uselessly through space, before his body was enveloped by the cold water. He paddled furiously, trying to figure out which way was up, before his head breached the surface. He must have landed in the lake, and could only hope the others were as lucky.

Crawling ashore, Shepherd was heartened to find Shorren still in his hand, and a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he found himself face to face with his father.

He looked fearfully into the strong man's eyes, eyes that weren't sunken in and ragged from the bayou-sick like before, in the last days he lived. His father crossed his arms and looked down disapprovingly at his son, scratching his jet black beard. "Did we not raise you as best we could?"

Shepherd gripped Shorren with pale and numb fingers. This thing wasn't his father, it couldn't be. But still the apparition spoke just as the man would in life. "You ran off to chase your fairy tales on that accursed island. You left your mother and I to die!"

"NO!"

"Yes!" His father pointed at him with a hand calloused from decades spent working wood into strange shapes and purposes. "A good son wouldn't have left us alone, you would've chosen to stay with us! If you did, we would still be alive!"

"No! You're not real!" Shepherd screamed as he pointed Shorren at his father. He scowled at his son.

"Lifting a weapon against your own family? A disgrace to your family."

"You're not real!"

"The only thing real here is the cowardice in your heart." And with that the man turned and left.

Shepherd looked palely at where the man had been, oblivious to the silent legions of Sentinels passing on either side. That couldn't be true. Couldn't be real.

He got shakily to his feet and was surprised to see that the Sentinels paid him no heed, not even bothering to acknowledge him as they passed by on either side. Their shoulders bumped into his, but he did not pass out or feel faint.

A scream. A scream so loud it seemed to sap the sound from the world around. Shepherd knitted his eyes shut and fell to his knees, slamming his palms against his ears. But even then he still heard the scream. He opened his eyes and looked fearfully behind and saw the source of the wailing, the ghostly waling, a woman in a faint white dress that seemed to flutter though there was no wind. Her hair was the colour of bone, flying in a wild halo around her head like she was underwater. Her skin was likewise pale. Shepherd knew what beast this was, the stuff of children's stories and boogie man tales. He screamed along in unison with the banshee as she wailed.

The banshee wailed and wailed and Shepherd screamed in fear as he felt his world fade away and the Banshee's song fill him up. Then it ended. He looked up and saw the Banshee gone, and in its place was Drukjl, with tattered white robes in one hand and his axe in the other. "Come, Shepherd, we must find Frelsa!"

His ears still rang, but he managed to hold up one hand which Drukjl grasped, pulling him up. He leaned on the Urgal as he lead them through the crowds of Sentinels, none of them noticing them, and even when they touched the hooded figures they suffered no plight.

They found Frelsa fighting off… something. A skeleton, dressed in ancient Elven armour, a discoloured, tattered cap flowing behind it. The skeleton's morbid grin seemed almost gleeful as he struck down again and again at Frelsa. Shepherd winced as he lunged forward and plunged Shorren through the beast, the blade easily sliding through ribs and the ancient cuirass.

He smiled grimly to himself, before there was a cracking sound and the skull turned on its spine to face him. The grinning visage's mouth hung slackly open, taunting him in undeath, until a green blade swept through the spine and severed the head. The skeleton sank to its knees and fell over. Frelsa nodded, "Thank me later."

They huddled together, back to back. Shepherd asked, "Where are the dragons?"

A roar was their answer, from the left. Errol recognised that roar, Dýrgrir definitely, followed by Kalla's. Where was Errol?

Frelsa rushed off into the crowds of Sentinels, disappearing into their ranks. Shepherd called after her, before rushing to follow, following the curve of the lake bank.

The faceless crowd of hooded figures surged and waxed around him, and something struck him in the forehead and knocked him back. He rubbed his bruised skin and winced, looking up saw another horror before him, a snake that was as thick as his waist and whose length was so long he couldn't see the end of it. It bared its fangs and hissed, bright yellow venom collecting into small droplets at the tips of those serrated teeth. He screamed in horror and turned tail, running back into the crowd of Sentinels, only to see that they weren't there anymore. Instead he faced a legion of grim warriors, their faces hidden behind long faced helms of steel, two small slits marked where they looked out from, sunken and tired eyes were visible behind them. Each soldier was clothed in silvery plate armour with black scarfs and cloaks thrown over, each had a wickedly curved sword in hand. One of them carried a flag, and Shepherd knew the sign upon well. Many children have heard of it in fairy tales and stories, a sickle whose blade curved around three figures, the sigil of the Reapers of Men.

Shepherd wielded his blade unsteadily, backing up till he knocked into another Reaper. These were the heroes of legend, each one of them a master of war and duelling. The last time they'd marched from the South all of Alagaësia fell to their sickle-like swords, and they reigned unchallenged until the Riders mustered a counterattack. That was almost seven hundred years ago. If they'd marched on Belatona, three Riders would be no challenge to them. But no Reaper paid heed to him, not looking at him. They parted like water around a rock, providing him an island of sanctuary.

Another roar, this time of pain, Shepherd turned to it with widened eyes, shouting, "Errol!"

Running into the ranks of the Reapers, Shepherd was ready to fight his way through this indomitable force if needed to find his dragon, but none of them even seemed to get within arm's length of him.

He stumbled into a clearing in the ranks, and found Errol. He stayed close to the ground, his body marked by innumerable bleeding wounds and gouges. Shepherd wondered why he did not fly away, then saw Kalla. She lay immobile on the ground, a spear impaled in her side. Her ribs rose raggedly with each breathe and her breathing was laboured. Shepherd paled at the sight of the blood leaking from her.

Three figures surrounded them, Shepherd realised from the height that they must be Dwarves. Errol reached down and slammed his jaws shut over one, lifting him into the air and flinging the unfortunate Dwarf far into the ranks of Reapers. Shepherd struck forth with Shorren and caught one of the Dwarves unawares, his blade sinking through armour and flesh. Errol quickly swept aside the last one. He planted one foot on the Dwarf's back and pushed him off the blade, before looking to Errol, _You okay?_

His wounds looked mean and deep, but he snarled,_ Kalla! Save her!_

He sheathed Shorren and went to Kalla's side. Her mind was so weak it nearly wasn't there. Placing one hand around the smooth wood pole of the spear and the other against Kalla's cold scales, he pulled back and the weapon inched out slightly, Kalla giving a pained rumble. Errol snarled at his Rider, but Shepherd looked back angrily, _I can't heal her with this thing in her side!_

He kept on pulling on the spear, trying to ignore the sick and gristly noises it made as it slid past bone and flesh. Errol snarled at something and there was a sound like clashing steel and wrenching metal, like the dragon had bit through something. Shepherd winced as the spear came free with a sickening squelch, and threw the weapon aside, placing both palms against Kalla's belly and exhaling. He realised that Frelsa would be better for this, she was much better at magic than he. Then he realised that if he didn't save Kalla, Frelsa would kill him.

"Waíse heill."

The toll on him was strong, he felt his blood racing through his veins and heard his heart throbbing. His knees grew wobbly, his eyelids slid a bit lower, but nothing happened to the wound. He repeated the spell again, louder, but nothing happened still. The toll grew ever greater, one of his knees folded in and he fell to the ground. He noticed the grass still grew tall here. Why did he notice that?

Speaking out the spell again, he prayed for something to happen, however nothing did and he felt the tiny spark that was Kalla's mind get snuffed out. He paled as he said the spell again and again, searched deeper and deeper for the dragon's mind, but nothing happened. You can't heal a dead thing.

Shepherd felt a tear creep out of his eye, but wiped it away. He had to save the others before they found the same fate. Turning, he saw Errol spit out something like a helmet, before turning to glare at his Rider, _What happened? Tell me!_

He shook his head slowly, _I couldn't help her._

_ No!_ Errol thrashed and roared at him. _Don't lie to me!_

He bounded across to Kalla's side, laying his head by her's, nuzzling her neck scales with his snout. _Come on, wake up, wake up…_

Shepherd drew Shorren, determined to cut down these Reapers, all of them. Errol nuzzled Kalla still, _I'm sorry for anything I did, everything I did. Just come back. Please._

Another roar, Dýrgrir's definitely, coming from somewhere out over the lake, but it was joined by another. Shepherd realised who that roar belonged to. Kalla.

Errol knew it too and got up, looking out over the heads of Reapers and across the water surface. Shepherd clambered atop his dragon and saw something swooping over the heads of the soldiers, a brown dragon and a green one. He asked cautiously, _Kalla?_

_ Shepherd? Frelsa, we've found him!_

Errol looked on in disbelief. _Kalla? But then, what…_

They turned back towards where Kalla's cold body had been. Ranks of silver clad soldiers, and rising above their heads the tall walls of Belatona, but no still and cold dragon. Errol was a mass of conflicted emotion, and Shepherd was tempted to cut off the connection, but resisted. He patted Errol's grey neck,_ Come on, let's go!_

They soared over the heads of Reapers, until Shepherd realised they weren't Reapers. Now where silver helmets had been were horned heads and fur and iron armour. An army of Urgals, there were so many here that there must be ten clans joined together. They roared and bellowed at Shepherd and Errol as they soared over their heads until their ranks ended, replaced by the surface of the cold Lake Leona.

* * *

Errol and Shepherd met them somewhere over the lake. Errol exclaimed immediately, _Kalla! Are you fine?_

She seemed annoyed, but still answered,_ Fine, of course, now can anyone help make sense of what's happening?_

Frelsa ticked them off on her fingers, first Sentinels, then the grinning skeleton, some strange legion of soldiers in silver plate armour and now clans of Urgals. Then there were the creatures that she'd managed to evade, a ghoul and a man that rose from the water and seemed to be composed of the water itself, and most terrifying of all: a fish with dragon like wings. She remarked, _A right mess we've found ourselves in._

"Tell me about it. Those Reapers scared the soul out of me," Shepherd said, he seemed awkward for some reason, like he had seen something he didn't want to.

_Reapers?_ She asked. He gave her a 'tell you later' look.

Drukjl shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. His whole right side was blackened and so were Dýrgrir's scales on his right side, a parting gift from the fiery bolt that had struck them. The Urgal grunted, "These rams, they are not like any I've ever known."

She honestly couldn't see a difference but didn't voice that aloud. Another bolt of fire fell from the clouds and nearly struck them, striking the lake surface and fizzling to embers. "We can't stay here!"

"You don't say!" Shepherd shouted as something, like some kind of sea serpent as thin as a thin tree trunk, rose from the lake like an arrow and tried to latch onto Errols wing. The dragon swooped out of the way.

_What do we do? Go to the city's defense or save ourselves? _Dýrgrir roared as an arrow pierced his wings.

Frelsa furrowed her brows, yelling, "The city! We can't leave them behind!"

Errol began,_ But-_

_ To the City_, Kalla stated finally. Errol followed without question.

The army below them had changed once again before they got there, now where the Urgals had once been were crowds of strange figures, armoured in long flowing grey amour even more elegant than the Elves'. Their helmets were strange, made of the same grey material and with no visible visor or eye holes. They carried weapons like Elven blades and a few leading the charge had halberds with great flags that depicted nothing but grey. She knew not what manner of men these were, but the shortest was a head taller than the tallest Elf.

Dýrgrir swooped down and picked up one, who struggled weakly in the dragon's grasp, before he was flung into the ranks of his brethren. One of them stomped hard on the ground and a stone, still with some grass attached to the top and soil streaming from it, shot forth from the ground and slammed into Errol, sending him careening away.

Kalla landed within the city limits, where the soldiers of Belatona were barely able to hold the line against the onslaught. They were stretched thin across the breach in the wall, standing on rubble and fallen stones, holding their shields together to form their own wall of shields. The grey soldiers pressed forward against them, slashing against the shields with their curved blades and with magic. A blade would land against a shield, then a tree trunk, then a whole body of a fallen soldier. One of the soldiers, judging from his gleaming badges a captain, detached himself and went to where the Riders were, "Hail!"

The soldiers forming the shield wall seemed to sense their presence and raised their shields a bit higher. The Captain shouted, "You need to help us! The men, they're scared out of their mind. First priests, then Reapers, then Urgals and now these things! I can barely keep them from deserting."

Frelsa found it a bit strange, this man was almost definitely twice their age at least, yet he looked to them. Perks of being a Rider, she guessed. Drukjl asked, "What do you need?"

Errol landed, newly healed by Shepherd. The Captain responded not to Drukjl but to Frelsa, not even regarding the Urgal, "We need you to push them back if you can. There's no way we can even hold out for any longer, we need you all to help hold the line until the citizens evacuated into the inner walls. Then we'll retreat and allow them to push into the streets where we can pick them off with arrows."

Shepherd nodded, he seemed slightly fatigued but otherwise fine, "How much time do you think you'll need?"

"The evacuation's been underway for some time now, so an hour or so, but any time more will be appreciated."

"Got that."

Kalla leaped forth first, spreading her wings wide and soaring over the heads of the shield wall and landing in the midst of the grey legion. She roared and snapped at the armoured soldiers. Frelsa could not help but appreciate the tenacity of dragons, these strange warriors were almost as tall as Kalla was.

The dragon spread her wings and knocked back a group of warriors. The soldiers of Belatona behind them roared in fury and charged forth, their swords stabbing down and finding marks in the fallen grey warriors. Frelsa glanced to one side and saw Dýrgrir and Errol wading into the ranks. She swung Delswoir in a wide arc and it stuck on the neck of one of the grey figures. She yanked it back and ignored the sickening crunch of bone. She tried to remember what Eragon had taught her about fighting on dragon-back, but she didn't think his lessons applied to fighting those taller than Kull.

Frelsa felt something to her left and turned to see grey blade bounce off her wards and was sent flying back. She tried to swing Delswoir forward to the head of the wielder but the warrior ducked down and the blade flew over his head. He rose again and reached forward with one hand, easily pulling her off her seat on Kalla.

Frelsa scrambled to her feet to face the giant before her, at least two, maybe three heads taller. He raised his sword high to cleave her in twain, and would have had Kalla not bitten his abdomen and thrown him aside. A part of her wondered why the Sentinels and those 'Reapers' hadn't harmed them but the Urgals and grey warriors did.

She tried to climb up onto Kalla again but something grabbed the back of her tunic and threw her back with so much force that she soared for a good few seconds before landing on one of the grey warriors.

Struggling to her feet, Frelsa raised her sword against the greys in front of her, trying to find the bravado in her heart from before but it wasn't there. She realised that they were doomed to fail against these things as the battle raged around her. Each grey warrior would slay three men before he was cut down, and there were thousands more to follow behind.

There was a scream and she saw one of the soldiers next to her slashed across the face by a curved blade. Another wail as a man was impaled by a stone spire summoned from under the earth.

She saw something through a gap in the crowd, Dýrgrir, just metres away, standing over a wounded Drukjl. A blade reached forth and slid across the Urgal's chest and his flesh parted and blood flowed down. Dýrgrir roared, and Frelsa knew deep down that before his impending wrath the warriors were damned.

But the dragon didn't bite forth and slash as she had thought, the brown dragon looked down at his Rider as the Urgal's eyes rolled back into his skull and he fell, then back at the grey cohort before them. Then he opened his maw and she smelled something like smoke.

The next few moments are hard to describe with words, a torrent of fire and heat, smoke and ash that consumed all before Dýrgrir. The fire was the colour of burnished copper, the edges curling to a rust like colour. The torrent raged and roared, the fires spreading forth like a plague or fell wind and blanketing the ground in flames, then spreading still, over the still water surface like a carpet of bronze tongues of heat. She felt the soldiers around her raise their shields to protect them from the heat, and Frelsa knew the only reason she wasn't in ashes was that her wards offered some little protection. The warriors before her turned to dark silhouettes as they were covered with tender blankets of flame, wrapping gently around their armour, then they seemed to dissipate into nothingness.

When the fire ended and the smoke cleared, Frelsa opened her eyes and immediately shut them again, rubbing them from pain of the smoke. She rubbed the tears from them and looked forth. The field before them could have been some desolate wasteland. The green grass was all burnt and crisped, the soil cracked a thousand times over from heat. Trees were now devoid of leaves and their bark blackened and charred. None of the grey warriors were there any longer, even those who had obviously not been caught in the flames. Somehow, none of the soldiers of Belatona had been caught in the flames, though they still kept their distance from all the dragons. This sight had given all of them, including Frelsa, new respect for the dragons.

_What happened?_ Dýrgrir asked, in a state he had never been seen in since Frelsa could remember: shock.

Kalla bobbed her head approvingly, _That, my friend, is called breathing fire._

* * *

21-1-13

And that, is chapter 12, sorry for the very late release, I've been preoccupied with family matters for the past few weeks or so. But I'm up and running yet again! Hopefully I'll be able to return to my old speed, not one a day but certainly one every week or one and a half. Hopefully. And remember, a review is what makes writing worthwhile for many writers here, me included.

22-1-13

If you're confused at the events that transpired in the story, then I've done my job well, for that was my intention for this chapter.


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